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.
Categories: Biased, Unbalanced and Politically Incorrect
I am a lifelong Southerner, short story author, and essayist. Home is Dallas, Texas.
My essays have appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, The Dead Mule School of Southern Writing.