A Redneck’s Guide Ta Etiquette

 

I am not a redneck, nor do I play one on TV.

I like designer tags. And sipping champagne. I wear my shoes.  I am a class-ay chick!

Oh…who the hell am I kidding?!

Okay, so maybe I have a tad bit of redneck in me. I ain’t ever been the Barbie Doll type, that’s for sure. I do have a baby on my hip, I say hey y’all more than I should, and I can keep pace with the best of ‘em at the karaoke bar belting out some bad ass Gretchen Wilson tunes on a Saturday night.

I am proof that rednecks can be refined; and you can be, too.

So, for all you bad ass rednecks whose mantra is always ‘I’m here for the beer and the ball bustin’ band’ you may wanna utilize these here special tips and hints for a more rewardin’ redneck revelry this holiday season with the non-down home folk.

Cuz you wanna be class-ay too, I know ya do!

First, to address the men: your presence is required at Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. It doesn’t matter you’d rather sit in the tree stand in your backyard all day waitin’ for a twelve point buck to mosey on by. Unless ya want the ‘ol lady to shoot yer balls off and serve ‘em on a silver platter, you’ll have supper with your kinfolk.

Proper dress is required during dinner, especially if you’re attending a work related holiday party at the Omni Hotel. It’s one of them there fancy schmancy places, ya know, and all those hoity toity uptown folks don’t consider huntin’ gear proper attire. That means no wearin’ your camo pants and huntin’ boots, bright orange vest with black leather pants and cowboy boots, or black wranglers with a wife-beater. Oh, and leave the grimy ball cap at home. Go on down to the Goodwill and find yourself a nice pair of dress pants and a button down oxford shirt. And for cryin’ out loud, pull that long, stringy hair back in a ponytail. It’d totally freak out the stuffy old ladies to find a strand of your hair wrapped around the berries in their fruit compote.

Now, to all my sisters out there: if you’re gettin’ gussied up to accompany your ‘ol man to his company Christmas party, go easy on the Charlie parfume and blue frosted eye shadow. Spandex skinny pants and embellished tube tops ain’t proper attire for this shindig. Maybe you ought ta run on down to Wal-Mart and find yerself a little black dress off the clearance rack. And, by little, I don’t mean short-short or three sizes too small. Oh, and wear your good shoes. Sunday best! With stockings. Also, keep the accessories to a minimum – your earrings should not look like the fishing lures you wore to Bubba’s weddin’.

Finally, some points for all to remember: Don’t remover your clothes while dancing no matter how hot ya get, and stay off the tables.

Don’t steal the microphone from the MC and bust out acapella Tanya Tucker tunes cuz ya think ya need to liven up the joint.

Sisters: don’t go all Jerry Springer on some broad you notice looking your ‘ol man up and down – she ain’t wantin’ to covet what you got, believe me. She’s prolly lookin’ at your ‘ol man’s attire thinkin’ ‘what in tar nation’?!

Good ‘ol boys: the same applies to you should ya discover some old dude glancing at your ‘ol lady’s legs – he’s just wonderin’ how in the world he can convince his ‘ol lady to wear a getup like that. It’s tacky to fight, especially in public, and the last thing you want is the uppity’s thinkin’ y’all don’t have any class, or worse, common sense.

Should ya happen to taste something a little funky in yer mouth, do not spit it out on your plate. Just take a good swaller of water and it’ll go down easy.

In closing, fellow rednecks, should ya happen to be hostin’ a holiday dinner for non-down home kin, use ceramic plates, glass dishes, and real silverware. Regardless of how all y’all been taught, Chinet doesn’t cut it and neither do Dixie cups. Under no circumstances are ya to pass off sliced Spam as yer entrée, especially if ya served it to yer neighbors the night before. Keep in mind a deer head doesn’t make a good centerpiece and Moon pie is not considered dessert.

Now go on and have a (not too) rowdy time!

Can I getta Hell yeah?!