My South

This is the South I grew up in. Believe it or not, if you get away from the big cities (I can remember when Raleigh, NC was a small city, and there was country between Raleigh, Durham and Chapel Hill. God, I’m old.) you can still find it.

Who was that at the door?” asked my mother, who had been upstairs getting dressed when the doorbell rang.

“It was Miz Myers, the new lady that moved in next door. She wanted to know if she could borrow a cup of sugar,” I replied.

“Well, Page, did you ask her to come in?”

“Nome. All she wanted was a cup of sugar.”

At that point I was told to sit down and was given a lengthy lecture on good manners, chiefly centered around the custom of always inviting folks who arrived on your doorstep to come in for a visit.

“I am so embarrassed,” Mother mourned. “What must she think of us?”

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