Studies in Tupelo

Once again, yesterday was spent exploring the City of Tupelo. I found this mural painted on the side of a building that housed a restaurant called Romie's, a Tupelo institution, and also where we had lunch.

We were told to come early, and that proved to be good advice. The place was jammed with Tupelonians fresh from church and hungry. I finally got a helping of fried green tomatoes, a dish I had heard about and been around all my life, but for whatever reason, had never actually experienced until now. I have to say? I'm not a fan. I can understand overeager southerners being unable to resist the urge to pluck the first unripe tomatoes of the season but, in my opinion, the fully ripe tomato is worth the wait. For those of you who are unfamiliar, fried green tomatoes are exactly what the name implies: unripe green tomatoes batter dipped and fried.

In fact, here's a photo of my lunch. You'll note that the two main southern food groups are represented here: your browns and your whites:

Those golden discs peeping out from under the roll are the tomatoes. When ordering off a menu of authentic southern homestyle cooking there really is only one choice: fried chicken. When ordering off a southern breakfast menu? You need to try the grits. And while grits is spelled "grits", in the south that is a actually two-syllable word pronounced: "gree-yuts" (Just a little fyi for you there.)

I snapped a few photos of some of the more interesting locals around me at lunch. This gentleman looked to be enjoying a Father's Day lunch with his daughter:

And this woman was clearly at lunch with her husband, children, and grandchildren:

Both of these people are, in my opinion, typical southern upper crust. A little excessively well dressed, attractive, but with JUST a whiff of eccentric. I can easily picture the woman's beautifully decorated home, she's likely a wonderful cook, perhaps famous for her cobblers, probably active in her church. At the same time, if her husband were to, I don't know, say stray with her good friend and neighbor, Betty Jean Drexell? This lady in white might just serve him up a deadly slice of his favorite, lemon ice box pie, laced with arsenic, and calmly sip a nice cup of coffee flavored with a dash of, her favorite, hazelnut cream as he slowly chokes to death in the breakfast nook.

Later, she'd turn up appropriately red-eyed, perfectly coiffed, and stunning all in black complete with pillbox hat and veil at the funeral. And she'd be sorry it had to end that way, she really would. But, sometimes, these things just can't be helped (she'd say to herself as she patted her little granddaughter's head at the graveside).

My point is, you just do not mess with this particular type of southern woman. Just don't. Trust me on this.

As for the dapper gentleman. He's a retired bank president, isn't he? Obviously, the bow tie is his signature look. He has thousands of them that he's collected over the years. One in every conceivable color. In fact, it's a tradition that his daughter buys him a new one each father's day. And, each year, when presented with the elaborately wrapped present, they have a tradition where he guesses all manner of bazaar guesses about what's in the box. The Hope Diamond? A set of mud flaps? Toe socks?

Yes, he has a wonderful relationship with his daughter. And they've grown even closer since his wife died last year. But, while he loved Doris, if he were really honest, he'd have to admit that this last year on his own has been fairly exciting. Because, for the first time in his life, he can now indulge his fantasies each and every night. And what our friend Larry here likes to do in his impeccably decorated two story Victorian, after dark, when the shades are drawn, is to dress up like a Dallas Cowboy's Cheerleader.

Oh, sure, the habit started out dressing as just any old generic cheerleader. He'd pick up some pom-poms here, some extra-large sized saddle oxfords there. But, over the years, much like his bow tie habit, his cheerleader habit evolved. The outfits became more authentic--he HAD TO HAVE the matching cheer panty for each pleated cheer skirt, for example.

Eventually, he realized he was meant for greater things. He was meant to be part of a squad that included only the cheerleadng elite, the best of the best: The Dallas Cowboy's squad. For years, acquiring the legendary short-shorts, vest, and royal blue bra-tie blouse was only a dream. And then...and then. He discovered E-Bay.

And now? He has several identical versions of the coveted outfit (and matching cheer panties). And, just about every night, he gets the chance to morph from plain old Larry Sappington, Bank President, to:

THE FABULOUS BECKY BARRETT, DALLAS COWBOY'S CHEERLEADER.

And if you're Larry (or Becky)? It just doesn't get any better than that.

(And if you're me? You gotta wonder if there isn't something in the water around Oxford, Mississippi.)