Stop by, kick up your feet and sit a spell. Around here we serve up Southern hospitality in a tall, cold glass of sweet tea with a shot of something strong and a side of crazy cakes on heirloom china.
The girl's name is Fifi. Husband is just named husband until I come up with something better, although sometimes he's any number of derogatory names. He's good for making money, fixing things and bowing to Fifi's every whim. I, on the other hand, am good for nothing.
My house always looks like the aftermath of a missile strike so don't be expecting any Stepford cleaning tips. I am a decent cook because its part of my Southern DNA but don't be expecting me to share recipes with exact measurements or fancy techniques. I cuss a lot and the F bomb is one of my favorites so if your sensibilities are easily offended, I may not be for you.
Pull up a chair and make yourself a cocktail. Mason jars welcome, red Solo cups strictly forbidden. We're Southern. Not redneck. And no, the two are not synonymous.
