Never Sit Down in a Hoopskirt and Other Things I Learned in Southern Belle Hell Read Online Free PDF Page A

bigger Walmarts with grocery stores inside for easy one-stop shopping. Fancy, new subdivisions out in the county, far from those darn city taxes. Modern new churches with rapidly expanding memberships.
    But when push comes to shove, if the change is substantial, forget it. People who don’t understand us would like to say it’s because we’re backward or stupid or lazy. But really, it’s because of the ancestors. It’s as if everybody thinks all our dead ancestors, back to the ones who showed up here from France and Spain to colonize the joint, are sitting up in the afterlife watching our every move, fixing to send hellfire and damnation down on us if we dare deviate from the way they set things up for us. We fear that more than we fear the Supreme Court, the National Guard, and that evil guy from Saw all put together. For that very reason it is not uncommon for a young lady to hear things like, “Your great-great-grandfather founded the Presbyterian Church in 1785. No, you cannot take yoga. It’s heathen.” Or “I know that Granddaddy’s old wood rolltop desk doesn’t fit in with your new Pottery Barn Caribbean Beach Bungalow bedroom suite, honey, but he built his lumber company on that desk. We can’t get rid of it and that’s the only place I have for it!” Or “Your mother did cotillion, your sisters did cotillion, your grandmother did cotillion, you will do cotillion. And you are not a lesbian and that is final!”
    Ashley sped right into resistant-to-change mode. “Well, I am sure that getting modern is a great idea and all, Uncle Walter,” Ashley huffed. “But how in the world can you say the girls that got picked represent the city?” She gestured at her minions. “ We know our Bienville inside and out. We were all born and raised here. I’m just worried that some of these other girls aren’t going to be able to keep up.” She pointed at Brandi Lyn. “She goes to County High, which means she lives outside the city limits. Can she truly represent Bienville? I don’t think so!”
    Walter shook his head. “The bylaws do allow county girls on the Court.”
    Planting a hand on her hip, Ashley swiveled her head around until her laser beams landed on me. “And Jane!”
    She spat my name out as if it was dirt on grits.
    I laughed in her face. “Oh, come on, Ashley. You know I have the pedigree.”
    Mallory perked up. “That’s right! If I’m not mistaken, Divine Causeway and Irving Street are named for your people!”
    That was surprising. “Wow. You know that?” I asked.
    â€œI just love local history.”
    â€œCool.” I turned back to Ashley and ticked names off on my fingers. “I am the granddaughter of Digger Fontaine and Jane Irving. Grandniece of Danielle Renault. Great-granddaughter of Lawrence Divine. B’ville history is in my blood, Ashley.”
    She pursed her lips. “Well, what does that matter? Where have you been lately, Miss Fontaine Ventouras?”
    â€œBoarding school. Well, a series of them. All of quite the highest caliber, I can assure you.”
    Ashley batted her eyelashes—again. This was surely the performance of her life. “That just proves my point, Uncle. Jane’s been away way too long to really know what it means to be from Bienville.”
    â€œOh, I’m pretty sure I know what it means.”
    Wheeling away, Ashley focused her attention on Zara, who was still across the stage talking to her parents. “As for her, she’s, she’s…” Ashley trailed off, closing her mouth, opening it again, closing, opening, like a DVD player on its last legs.
    Ohhhhh nooooooo. There it was. A prime example of how Bienville is, shall we say, majorly behind the times?
    See, we all knew what Ashley was about to say—that Zara was African American. And while I wasn’t a hundred percent up on my M&M