Wednesday, Feb. 2, 2005
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Wednesday, Feb. 2, 2005
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To tell stories properly takes a diva
It is impossible for a true-blooded Southerner to tell a simple story. Especially if the Southerner is a woman. Like a pretty, practiced handwriting, we add twirls, loops, squiggles and embellishments here and there. By the time we’ve finished, it’s dressed up like a church-going, bonnet-wearing woman on Easter morning. The other day, Mama was telling me a story in front of my brother that involved him. When she finally finished, he rolled his eyes and said, “Now, as long as it took for her to tell that story, the whole thing happened in less than five minutes.” Mama, like most Southern women, had taken 15 minutes to tell of a four-minute incident. You can even say to my mama, “Okay, cut to the chase. What happened?” She talks right over the question and does not drop one word in the way she set out to tell the story. At the beauty salon, I was sharing chit chat with a kind, gentle silver-haired diva while we both waited for our nails to dry. She mentioned seeing a mutual friend of ours the previous evening. She told it like a typical Southern woman. “I stopped by the grocery store after church to pick up, now let me see, what was I picking up? Oh, yes. I needed to get some unsalted Fleischman’s butter. He was in there shopping and was buying tartar sauce and some cocktail sauce. I figured they were going to have fish for dinner.” I love this. I’m a detail person and want all the flourishes added to a story. It’s so much more interesting that way. But don’t try to get this kind of description from a non-Southerner. They give the facts, plain and clear. It’s like a big baked potato without butter or sour cream. Southern women will tell the same story and add everything including chives, bacon bits and shredded cheese. When I tell a story, I give what they call in Hollywood the “back story.” That means that I tell everything leading up to the event that might be of the least bit useful, the slightest detail that might add punch. I was on the way to the beauty shop one afternoon when my girlfriend, Karen, called. She began telling this whopper of a story that was so fascinating that I hated to leave the car. It happens that Karen’s husband does my hair so I walked into shop, talking on my cell phone. Something I never do but you should have heard this story. I couldn’t hang up. Anyway, Karen said, “Just get my sweet husband to tell you the rest of the story. He knows it.” I clicked off and said, “Karen said to finish telling me the story.” Her sweet husband shrugged as he threw the cape around me. “He had a wreck.” “And?” “And, that’s all I know.” Karen’s version was much more interesting. It started with what he had breakfast, what he said to the teacher when he dropped the kids off that morning, how he flirted with Mindy Williams when he deposited his payroll check at the bank, what his mama wore to the Goodwill Circle meeting the week before, how his grandmother was suffering something awful with her arthritis and how Cindy Turner’s new shade of blonde was the prettiest color yet. That came up because Cindy is Mindy’s twin sister and when Mindy’s name was mentioned, it naturally led to the new hair color. “That’s it?” I asked the sweet husband. “Yep. That’s all I know.” No, it wasn’t. He knew the same story as his wife but it translated into “That’s all I’m telling.” “Hand me the phone,” I instructed. “I’m calling Karen back. She is a much better storyteller than you.” |
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Copyright
2004-Fayette Publishing, Inc.
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Ronda Rich is the author of “What Southern Women Know (That Every Woman Should)” and “My Life In The Pits.” She lives in Gainesville, Ga.
