You may be surprised by this, but I'm not much of a country girl.
I don't ever feel at one with nature, I hate bugs, and the idea of sleeping out under the stars does not bring me a feeling of well being, but one of depravity- what about wild animals, those aforementioned bugs, and most importantly- where is a bathroom when you need one?
Needless to say, when New Yorkers come to places like Kentucky (where I am currently vacationing- my husband is from here) we find the honesty and charm "a breath of fresh air" and "real" people that live here are so "down to earth". We love antiquing and shopping for crafts, eating grits (screw the gym, I'm in the South), and slowing our rolls to accommodate the easygoing nature of the natives (don't freak out because it's been half an hour since you've ordered your meal, DON'T FREAK OUT- IT'S THE SOUTH).
But however much I try to convince myself I could live a Southern life where people allow for eccentricity and have wonderful manners and a lack of pretense, there's just no way a girl like me would make it down here.
For starts, I'm not as easygoing as I like to think I am. I lack that ease that people down here have when they talk to each other- sure as New Yorkers we fancy ourselves as friendly, but we majorly sniff each other out. There's always an eyebrow raise,, and a sense of "I'm dying to know what you do for a living" soft interrogation that we all employ. Not so here. In the South, folks linger a bit too long when they talk to you, even when you have decided to move on and go to your next location. I consider myself a fairly fluid conversationalist, but my shoot the shit arts are not up to snuff for Southern life. This much I know.
Then there's the fashion. Um. Woah. Though there are some power blondes down here looking gorgeous, for the most part, my sense is that not many ladies here obsess over the art of a good haircut. I'm not sure i understand why so many women are rocking a sort of feathery, gym teacher hairdo, but it's a look I'm not ready to embrace, and though I have loosened my silhouette some to accompany my less than ideal frame as the years go by, I'm never going to wear a giant tee shirt. With jorts. And a wedged flip flop. Nope. Not going to happen.
I can't help but wonder- why do so many women here give up? Would a little mascara kill them or an updated hairdo? I get that fashion is not that important to most, but really. I guess I missed the memo about the grandma from Napoleon Dynamite lookalike contest. Quesadillas, anyone? It's not cute- I'm generalizing, but...wow.
This week found us at Mammoth Cave, an admittedly beautiful and super American kind of destination. Living in New York City, the thought of cave dwelling has always been seductive- natural air conditioning all year round and best of all, silence, and no annoying hipsters or children with names like Ryder or Prometheus. But guess what? Caves are not my thing. Another shocking fact. I know!
Poor David booked us on a two hour spelunking adventure (two hours is too long to do just about anything really)- which started with the guide rattling off every neurotic's worst fears- if you are the following, then perhaps the caving thing is not for you:
Afraid of the dark
Claustrophobic
Out of shape
Afraid of the idea that if something should happen to you, it will take an amublance five hours to reach you
Thinking about the fact that once you're in the cave, there's no way out until the tour is done
Too exhausted in a general life sense to appreciate one of the wonders of the world
Plain scared of everything and/or Jewish (that part's embellished but may as well have been said. They did say that first bit though).
Well that's an excellent and apt character portrait. Of myself.
So we decided to shorten said spelunk and go on the mild, one hour tour, the one for commitment phobes and fraidy cats like me, and very old people and babies. Actual infants. I felt some relief. But after a horrifying hour discovering America while I waited for the tour to begin (we are not looking pretty, friends. Not at all.), we met our fellow cavemen and women- a chipper and eager lot, all in terrible shorts. Apparently gym shorts are proper attire when sightseeing in our fair land. Dirty ones.
When the tour guide asked where we were all from, there were loads of proud shouts of "WISCONSIN!" "TENNESSEE!" " "OHIO!". But when David shouted out "NEW YORK" everyone, and I do mean everyone, started to laugh. Loudly, as if Jeff Foxworthy just said something
hi-larious (as if). Then, the rather large woman in the sweaty gym shorts and unfortunate panty line from Wisconsin, said "Oh, New York, huh? Well bless your heart." From what I hear, when someone says that phrase to you in these here parts, it means you are either a complete and utter imbecile or "special". It was part humbling moment/part wanting to go all kinds of Snake Plissken on all of them. I'm from New York- fuck off- but why are you laughing at me?
I suppose the moral of the story is that although we all live in one (supposed) nation, under God, with liberty and justice for all, we don't. The South is just different, as is the rest of the country once you leave Nuevo Yorko. Very, very different. And though I've enjoyed the crafts and jams and jellies and human decency, when a tour guide at one of the wonders of the world says "Now, you can't bring your firearms into the cave, but feel free to carry them on the grounds of the park", you know you're just not in Brooklyn anymore.
And though I hem and haw and talk about how expensive and stressful life is in the 212 and how annoying Soul Cycle has become, I know that my veiled dreams of living a life like Shirley MacLaine in Steel Magnolias would never suit me, even if it would be better air, cheaper housing, and less neuroses. I just can't be a country girl no matter how hard I try- stick a fork in me and take me back to Organic Avenue and smartly razored haircuts. Southern charm, though lovely, is somewhat wasted on me. I'm ready to come back to the crazy, yet lovable chaos filled place I call home. I wish I was more adaptable, but it's not gonna happen. I will however, continue to enjoy your bourbon, Kentucky. I could never be mad 'atcha for that.
Cause that's what's up this don't hate me cause I'm a Yankee idiot kind of Friday in Louisville. All the love. Country girl, I'm not. XO