not so much

I'm emotionally trying to prepare myself to take the boyfriend down South. Booking two tickets from LGA to CAE has been reminiscent of a Double Dare Physical Challenge. With the potential crossing of the Mason-Dixon at hand, I've been tormented with sleepless nights and hypothetical situations. You must gain understanding into my fearful thought process.

Smalltown, South Carolina cannot compare with being raised on the Upper West Side. My two younger sisters and I grew up, known throughout the town, as the three "Collins Girls". Stepping stones with big smiles, energy to boot, and the most polite manners you had ever seen. We were homeschooled. We were smart. We were sitting in the front pews of church every Sunday, singing solos during "special music", and starring in Vacation Bible School plays. We took art lessons and competed in piano recitals. Dozens upon dozens of Christmas Cards adorned our living room every year.

What dorks. This may sound stereotypical of a Southern rearing. (I just said rearing) But the truth of the matter is, there were virtually no others like us. This is my mental reiteration and consolation that we were not meant to have been raised here. But alas, we were.

So we played little league and rode four-wheelers down winding, dirt roads. We played in cotton and thinned corn. We were admitted to "real" (and I say this quite loosely) school by 8th grade. We played our dealt cards and demanded evacuation from the womb.

Please understand that I am neither ashamed nor ungrateful for my South Carolina upbringing. It is my reason for being and circumstance. I would not have it any other way.

However... I'm not so sure I'll be able to handle showing off the local Piggly Wiggly. Gulp.