Mrs. Tessa Puts the P in Proper

Hello folks, and welcome back to my place. It’s always good to see you. Now, put your feet up and make yourselves at home while I get our weekly celebration kicked off with a story. We need to chat…~smile~

Proper southern belles are genetically programmed with certain expectations, one being “Everything has a place.” Mama’s a big believer. Several nights ago, she threatened to take a magic marker and number her Tupperware bowls and their corresponding lids, at eleven-thirty—P.M.! Fortunately, someone talked her down. Let’s be clear. Making sure everything’s in its place is not for the fainthearted or weak-willed. For illustration I offer the story of another local belle who puts the P in Proper. We’ll call her Mrs. Tessa.

One Sunday after church Mrs. Tessa’s family met for lunch at the Country Club where the big southern meal is served buffet style in nice large silver chafing dishes. After exchanging pleasantries with the other patrons, they were moving down the line when Mrs. Tessa noticed the gravy dish wasn’t positioned precisely right. She adjusted it once, but when it still didn’t look right, she casually moved behind the table and tried again. Suddenly, before her eyes, as if in slow motion, the huge boat of gravy slid off the table and hit the floor. KER PLAM! Whoosh! Plumes of brown gravy shot up and out in all directions. Aghast, Mrs. Tessa immediately began mopping at the mess with her dinner napkin. She may have made some headway, too, had she not slipped in the pooled gravy and lost her footing. Down she went, sliding under the buffet table, her high-heeled feet protruding beyond the tablecloth and visible to the lunch crowd seated on the other side, much like the Wicked Witch of the West—only Miss Tessa is anything but! (Insert collective “Bless her heart.”)

Mrs. Tessa stood, adjusted her tailored crème colored skirt, and announced that she was no longer hungry. She was going home. Let the record show she left the same way she arrived, head high and collected. Later that week, her daughter-in-law was reaching for the phone to invite her in-laws to supper when she stopped herself. On the menu that evening was roast… and gravy. Above all, a proper belle never wants to be seen as rubbing it in.

Hugs,
Shellie