Being Southern it’s easy to see how Celia’s tongue-and-cheek sassifrass literary talent pours like milk and honey into eager ears sustaining my craving for text with twang with Parts headings, chapter titles, & phrases like:

“Part 1: The Southern Family
And No, We Don’t Marry Our Cousins – Unless, Of Course, They Got Cable”

“Part 2 : Kids
Just Because They Don’t Have Gills Doesn’t Mean They’re Human”

“Part 3: Couples Therapy, Southern Style
Lord, Please Don’t Let Me Kill Him Till The House Is Paid For”

“Part 4: The Southern Woman
The Truth? We’re Just Like You, Only Prettier”

“What We Havin’ for Dinner Tonight, Sugar Booger?”

“On the short drive to the preschool, I dutifully unwrap a NurtiGrain bar and toss it into the back seat to my four-year-old. Sometimes I’ll even unwrap one for myself. Studies have shown that it’s very important for families to eat together…”

“Why couldn’t the Sopranos survive living down South? Simple. You can’t shoot a guy full of holes after eating chicken and pastry, spoon bread, okra, and tomatoes.”

“What does a Southern woman consider grounds for divorce? When Daddy takes the kids out in public dressed in their pajama tops and Tweety Bird swim socks. Again.”

“What is the Southern woman’s opinion of a new “fat virus” theory? Bring it on! We’ve got a lot of skinny friends we need to sneeze on.”

“Want to become honest-to-Jesus white trash? Spend two weeks’ salary on hair extensions and pancake makeup for your three-year-old so she can win a five-dollar trophy in the Wee Tiny Miss pageant and the adoration of, well, nobody much. “