There’s something about puppy breath, too. I’ll bet the smell of it could cure cancer, if scientists ever found a way to bottle it.

know it's ridiculous, but I wish I could buy you a puppy. If you've got one already, how about two? See, I have this ludicrous idea that dogs could put an end to worldwide hatred, and perhaps even eradicate pissy attitudes.

Take my pissy fifth-grade teacher, for instance. If I could've forced her to wrestle a puppy, it might've cured the old battle-ax. Because whenever you wrestle a puppy, you start saying things in a high-pitched voice, like, "He's a good boy. Yes he is."

And that changes you.

There's something about puppy breath, too. I'll bet the smell of it could cure cancer, if scientists ever found a way to bottle it. And puppy bites. Even though they hurt like hell, they're worth more than real estate, or an all-inclusive cruise to Europe.

Well. Maybe not a cruise.

I wish someone would have the good sense to set up a booth on the street corner and sell puppy love. For five bucks a pop,

customers could wrestle the bejeezus out of a happy Labrador. There'd be a single-file line winding clear down the street. I'd be in it.

I once had a dog who demanded to wrestle after supper, every night. The old girl was persistent, too. She'd bark and carry on, then pin me down and sentence me to death by licking.

When she became arthritic, she still wanted to rough-house. But she was fragile. I'd let her pin me down, and lick the hell out of my face. Then, she'd collapse and fall asleep with her head on my chest.

I don't know why, but she trusted me, even though I'm proud, and self-centered. Those black eyes seemed to understand almost everything there was to know about me.

Then one day, she closed those eyes for good, while I cried mine out.

I hope God likes to wrestle.

In this part of the world, social awkwardness is a sin. It's even written in the Bible somewhere. Which is why we find it easy to converse with Southern females.

Boys, the first thing you should know about a Southern woman, is that she is never awkward.

In this part of the world, social awkwardness is a sin. It's even written in the Bible somewhere. Which is why we find it easy to converse with Southern females.

You know what else a Southern lady does? She eats. Seldom will you find her drinking kale smoothies for supper. Thank Jesus. She was born with an appetite that only banana pudding and Sunday-night Bible study can satisfy.

Moving right along. If you're interested in a Southern girl, you'd better care about family. Because if you don't, she'll tell you to go straight to Hell. Which is probably where you're already headed. In fact, speaking of family, you should call your mother right now.

Go on, I'll wait.

Right beneath family is football. Your Southern woman knows how this sport works, thank you very much. If you try to explain an onside kick to her, she'll smile and spray Raid on your popcorn.

While

watching football, you'll also learn Southern belles can cuss. They're good at it. And it's not fair, because they hardly ever practice.

My wife, Jamie, once stubbed her toe on a brick. She uttered things that made birds fall out of trees.

Along with cussing, Southern gals love the Bible. They quote Proverbs from time to time. But watch out. If she ever combines cussing with Scripture, you're finished.

My cousin sassed his mother once. My aunt grit her teeth and said, “God sayeth, 'spare the rod and spoil the #@*&$! child.'” My cousin's visitation was closed-casket.

The truth is boys, a Southern woman is a product of generations of potlucks, homecomings, and SEC championships. She is strong, and sweet as honey butter. She dresses to the nines, prepares covered dishes of fried chicken, and arrives early to fellowship. She can fix your messy hair with her own spit,…