Women to my left. Women to my right. Pastel colors everywhere. Enough conflicting perfume scents to make my head swim. This might be the largest female gathering on planet earth.
And I'm in their hotel lobby.
If you want to know what I'm talking about, visit Atlanta during a Mary Kay convention. You'll see women of every shape, size, and hair-color—too many different Southern accents to count.
Such as the eighty-year-old woman who sits next to me while I'm eating a lukewarm complimentary breakfast. Her daughters are with her— granddaughters too.
“We ah from Marietta,” the elderly lady says, using eleven syllables.
Then, instead of shaking my hand, Mamaw
extends her wrist. Kind of like the Queen of England does when she blesses a NASCAR race.
Anyway, I'm not sorry about my strong affections for the women of Dixie. There's something special them, and I'll die believing that.
They are well-behaved, and unpredictable. Using only one breath, they can cuss you blind, then turn around and preach a full-blown sermon. Sometimes they do both at once, using so much charm you end up thanking them for it.
They dress to the nines, often spending upwards of six hours before a…