By: Angela Gillaspie © January 2004

We've all heard about those gruesome urban legends where roaches set up house in Aunt Erma's hairdo and folks woke up in a tub full of ice missing a brain or beer or something. Around my neck of the woods, we have our own scary happenings. There are two classifications of these horror stories that I call "Suburban Legends" and "Rural Legends," respectively.

The majority of the Suburban Legends I know about were overheard in various tanning salons, carpool lines, and Mercedes dealerships - I tried to verify these stories, but everyone was tightlipped. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

• The Creeping Boob - Breast Implants Can Be Sinister. Carrie Sue got breast implants and liposuction on her ample booty. She bought tight designer clothing to show off her new physique, but before long, she noticed her left breast was sliding toward her armpit. After a month her boob was under her arm and the Junior League Ladies began calling her "Quasimodo Carrie." To make matters worse, her country club membership was revoked because she scared small children.
• The Khaki Catastrophe - Be Afraid of Expensive New Outfits. Diane shopped for weeks and finally found the perfect khaki-colored L.L. Bean bayside twill to match her ecru chamois cloth chemise and sleek black Rockports. Well, you can imagine her horror when she attended the Southern Women's Show and discovered one of the lower income women wearing the same outfit. To make things worse, she ran into an old boyfriend (the one who survived waking up in an ice bath with his big toe cut off by big toe black marketers) that took pictures of her next to the poor well-dressed woman. Diane will be in therapy until next June.
• Future Farmer Fiasco - Don't Count Your Chickens Before They Grow Tomatoes. After years of pruning her son Geoff for student government and the debate team, Buffy found that Geoff joined the Future Farmers of America club, instead. To add insult to her injured ego, Buffy's husband quit his job at the bank to be a construction contractor and then bought an RV and followed his life-long dream of being a NASCAR groupie. Fortunately Buffy and Diane are friends and have the same therapist, so they can carpool.

On the other side of town, I overheard several Rural Legends in grocery store check out lines and beauty parlors. Again, I couldn't validate these, but who knows?

• Lost Love of the Pigskin. Every male child in the south must play football, it's the law. So just imagine Bubba's shock and embarrassment when little Bobby Joe told him, "Daddy I ain't gonna play football; it's too tough. I'm gonna play the clarey-net in the band." Bubba sent Bobby Joe off to boarding school hoping that Sister Agnes would toughen him up.
• Yankee Doodle Don't. Carlene claimed that she was born and raised down near Savannah and bragged all day about how her Daddy's Daddy's Daddy's Daddy mooned Sherman right before he burned Atlanta. Well, Bertie heard it from Jemma, and Jemma heard it from Gloria who heard it down at the beauty parlor that Carlene puts sugar on her grits, prefers ketchup on her collards, and has never whipped her own meringue. Gloria said that Carlene was probably one of that heathen Sherman's relatives and that no one would ever listen to her again, adding, "I mean, how can you trust somebody that don't have jumper cables in her car?" Good Lord, I'm glad Gloria didn't hear about Carlene buying a box of that pretentious French wine instead of good ol' American made Thunderbird, Mad Dog 20/20, or Night Train Express.
• Hair Care Nightmare. One day, Darla spent a good four hours and $20 getting her hair done for that night's dirt track race. She even paid an extra $3 to have glitter added to her teased and sprayed bangs. Unfortunately, her hairdresser used an off brand hairspray and the humidity brought Darla's bangs down so flat that she couldn't see. She fell down the bleachers and missed the biggest wreck of the night. It's too bad she doesn't know Diane and Buffy's therapist.

I don't know about y'all, but I'm going to have trouble sleeping tonight after hearing these shocking tales. I can't imagine my sons not playing football, my breasts wandering off, turning into a Yankee, and my bangs going flat.

I better find my own therapist, just in case