Lori Duff Writes

I have lived in the south for the vast majority of my life, but I do not consider myself a native southerner.  There are many things that I love about the south, including but not limited to the beauty of the landscape, the relatively slow pace of living, and the fact that very little of the weather tries to kill you; but I have to admit that some of the stereotypes are in fact true.

Sometimes, the south just makes fun of itself.  Jeff Foxworthy made a career out of it.

A few weeks ago, some girlfriends and I went on a roadtrip to Charleston.  We took the back roads.  And oh, Lordy, I promise you this is a documentary, but you’re not going to believe it. 

And no, it wasn’t the season for it, so we didn’t pass any signs for stands selling P-Nutz or Peches.

We did, however, pass a sign advertising “scented armadilla[1] traps.”  What, pray tell, are they scented with?[2]

There were lots of signs commanding me to repent.  Now, I’m not saying I shouldn’t repent: goodness knows I have a good bit to repent for.  But.  I can’t imagine there is a single person driving along the road who sees a sign that says “repent” and then fishtails the back end of the car they’ve slammed on the brakes so hard.  “Hold up,” they say to themselves.  “I can repent?  Thank God there was a sign.  I never would have known.”  Just seems a little cost/benefit analysis would put the sign money elsewhere.  Not that I would recommend the other sign we saw that said “God, Guns, & Glory.”  Presumably in that order.  Not sure which chapter of the Bible puts guns above glory.  Probably after the chapter about turning swords into ploughshares. 

Yes, we passed a road called “Booger Hollow,” which I’d bet my paycheck is pronounced “Booger Holler.”  Not long after that, our GPS told us we were on “Bull Swamp Highway” and we should turn right on “Caw Caw Highway”. 

We stopped at a gas station and right there, next to the Snickers bars and Starbursts were baggies full of white clay labeled “not for eating.”  Wink. 

I guess it was turkey season, because there were about four hand-lettered signs advertising turkey shoots, including one telling us not to forget the turkey shoot.  Of course not.  I’d sooner forget the Alamo. 

Hoo-eee.

I love where I live.  I must, or some time in the past thirty some-odd years I would have moved.  But if you can’t laugh at y’alls own, y’all ain’t laughing enough.    

[1] I had to type that three times before spell check let me spell armadilla in its intended, feminine form.

[2] Ok, I just looked this up, and Monsieur Google tells me that it is “the scent of an actual armadillo” which is “recharged every time an armadillo is trapped.”  Which of course begs the chicken/egg question about where the original armadillo/a scent came from. 

If you enjoyed this and want to read more like it, visit Lori on Twitter or on Facebook or read her award winning books.  You can order her novella, “Broken Things”, by clicking here.  The audiobook can be found on Audible or iTunes.  You can pre-order her novel “Devil’s Defense” coming in November 2024.

Lori Duff

Lori B. Duff is an award-winning author who practices law on the side.  Her latest book, “If You Did What I Asked in the First Place” was awarded the Gold Medal for humor in the Foreword INDIES awards in 2019. You can follow her on Twitter at @LoriBDuff and on Facebook. For more blogs written by Lori, click here. For more information about Lori in general, click here. If you want Lori to do your writing for you, click here. If you want Lori to help you market your book, click here.