With all the fright going around with ISIS and talking heads making-it-up-as-they-go-along-Ebola experts, thought I’d give myself a break from the scary stuff.

I am working on my family genealogy chart. Due to diligent family recordkeeping I was able to reach far back in history. My break from the scary stuff was short lived.

As I scan the aging photos of my DNA predecessors, it becomes obvious why the term “descend” is apt. A long line of unattractive people make up my gene pool. The men don’t look so bad, but some of the women look like they missed the casting call for “Transparent”.

A friend recently commented that women of a certain age, age more attractively in the city than their counterparts who inhabit the hinterlands. If she is correct, this has been going on for a long time. Believe you me; the myth about the beauty of southern women is exaggerated. There are few Scarlett O’Hara beauties in my family tree. Not only are some of them extremely unattractive, they look mean as rattlesnakes. I wondered why.

The reason for their unpleasant countenance became clear as I noted the number of kids these women had. Can you imagine living in a rural area in the 1800’s and having ten or eleven kids running around the cabin? There was no Mothers’ Day Out program. There was no electricity or running water. There was no pinot grigio to take the edge off; well maybe a little moonshine every now and then. There was no Fratelli’s pizza delivery on the days they didn’t feel like killing or skinning something for dinner.

These women probably thought chopping cotton was the equivalent of a spa day. A mani or pedi was unheard of which is why they wore gloves and ugly shoes when they left home. The men looked mean too and with good reason. Can you imagine the reception they got at the end of the day? (Workday fatigue must have been short lived as evidenced by the large number of children).

Had I been in their place I wouldn’t “smile for the camera” either.

I’ll take my oversized proboscis and generous backside that my forebears thrust upon me and be thankful for the here and now.

Mary Margaret has a different solution to her genealogy situation.

Mary Margaret Who?

Southern women know how to find the humorous, fun aspect of dysfunction.  Mary Margaret is a composite of many strong southern women. She is unconventional, nonconformist and more than a tad rebellious.

In her words:


When asked the source of her unorthodox point of view she replies  “I’ve been that way all my life” and fixes her subject with a stormy glare that dares them to continue. You can read more about her at

When the Universe Sends a Gift

Warm and fuzzy pieces rarely make an appearance on “You’re not supposed to Say that”. But, when the universe sends a gift that makes your feet want to do a happy dance and you smile for days; you have to share.

I was in the craft store looking for black paint. Wearing saggy baggy on the way to the gym attire, wonky hair and no makeup, the chances of running into anyone I knew were zero. The odds of finding me in a craft store were less than zero as my talent for arts and craft is limited to purchasing a decorative feeding bowl for the cat.

With readers perched on the end of my nose as I read the directions on a spray paint can (who reads the directions on a can of spray paint?)  someone called my name. As I turned  a giant hug enveloped the saggy baggy attire, wonky hair and no makeup mess that was me.The face of a former co-worker from Nine years ago greeted me. Think of it, NINE years.

Nine years ago, while my business casual attire did not qualify for Project Runway, it was a vast improvement over the current on the way to the gym appearance. This person could have breezed right past me without a second thought and a guilt-free conscience, but she didn’t.

That giant hug continued to cheer me for the remainder of the day and the next and the day after that.

That particular day I  needed a boost. Sometimes the universe sends an unexpected angel and if her name also happens to BE Angel, kind of makes you wonder.