Do kids still say P.U. to signify something stinky these days?  I was wondering about that as I was walking to Wyandotte on this near-tropical feeling morn, when suddenly … P.U., the unmistakable PUngent aroma of skunk assailed my nostrils.  Someone in the neighborhood either ran over skunk road kill, their pet got “skunked” or a black furry varmint with white stripes got startled and was running rampant on Emmons Boulevard.  The whopping 95% humidity only made the little stinker’s M.O. all the more odiferous.  I double-backed and headed in the opposite direction lest that wafting smell permeate my clothes and then I, too, would smell like I’d been “skunked”.  Hopefully, for their neighbor’s sake, the offending car (or perhaps family pet) got a tomato juice bath pronto.

The moniker of “Little Stinker” brings a smile to my lips.  My former neighbor, Jim, who was like a father to me, hailed from Kentucky and he, like all other Southerners I know, never lost the twang, nor all those cute down-home expressions.  If ever I told Jim a story about myself that astounded him or made him laugh, he would call me a “Little Stinker” … it always made me grin, as it does while I write this post and think of him. 

As to Southern idioms, I worked at a diner on weekends, holidays and all Summer while attending college.  Everyone at Carter’s was a Southerner, except me, and I started picking up alot of the Southern jargon and even a slight twang by the time I headed back to college at Summer’s end.  Even now, when I look up into a darkening sky, I still cannot help it – I find myself drawling “well, it’s comin’ up a storm”.  Most of Carter’s clientele also were from various Southern states and came in on a daily, or even twice-daily basis and inevitably the conversation turned to “back home” or Southern cooking.  Long before Paula Deen and her Southern dishes made her a household name, Ann and Georgia, were always in the back kitchen fixin’ up some tasty vittles for lunch as they were bored with the diner fare.  They’d whip up a batch of fresh hushpuppies and drop them in the fry basket in the hot grease, and soon the whole restaurant would smell of them and customers were envious.  They were my all-time favorite.  I also often got to sample okra, pinto beans, black-eyed peas, grits, collard greens, fried green tomatoes and an occasional hearty chunk of cornbread.  There was always a tall glass of sweet tea to wash it all down with.  I loved immersing myself in the total Southern experience.  Well shucks, I’m guessin’ I’m jest a hillbilly gal at heart.