Another South

I remember that I was at a high society dinner on the Upper East Side, New York, when I first told this very elegant, very funny, very bright lady—who would have wanted to be described as a mix of Audrey Hepburn and Lee Radziwill—that I had just fallen desperately in love with a Southern man. I remember how she studied my face for ten harrowing seconds, trying to decide if I was the most hilarious creature she’d ever met—or if I had lost my mind.

When she finally saw that I was earnest, she exploded in laughter so hard that it actually sounded cruel.

"What is so funny?” I asked her as she was choking on her salad leaf.

“Oh, trust me honey, you’ll see very soon everything that’s wrong with dating Southern men. Does he have a drawl?” she continued.

“I can’t really tell accents, but he doesn’t exactly talk like you and I.”