There is a common thread in the quilt of southern women, so much so that there are stories written, movies made, and even corporations formed around this well known truth. Of course, we are revered for our accents, our gift of gridiron gab, our devil be damned approach to life, but there is no denying that Southern women (most of them, that is) have their wedding day planned to perfection before preschool.
Somehow during the stitching of the proverbial quilt of Southern women, my patch slid to the floor, ended up on the bottom of someone's work boot and headed out to the barn to join the mud, the animals, the male mentality. While all the other patches were learning to twirl in tulle, sashay in satin, pick perfect petunias, and orchestrate a ceremonial symphony, I was somewhere in a tree, betting someone else I could go one limb higher than anything over 15lbs should!
Somewhere along the way, I managed to wander away from the heralded herd anytime there was imperative instruction on all that is female fabulous, other than great shoes, and I couldn't have missed that if I tried.
My dreams weren't filled with vision of Prince Charming nor did they depict images of flower girls, ribbon laden pews, or carefully calibrated cakes; however, I was the awkward little lass in the corner with Lego blocks, all the books I could store, and never without some poor unwitting animal tucked underneath my arm. Prince Charming clearly represented some dude that I would no doubt, challenge to a race, a tree climb, or the reason in which I was sent to time out (at least once every half hour) because little prince charming couldn't resist pulling my pig tails. So dear sweet Prince Charming wasn't really my idea of a good time. 
Although my momma tried, good lord in heaven she tried, my father never seemed to mind my propensity towards mud over make up, pigs over pageants, and football over flirting. He seemed to be just fine with it all.
Momma spent endless hours with meticulous effort dressing me in the prettiest little dresses ever seen, only to have them shimmy up a tree in less than 10 seconds. Thank goodness, for her, I have a sister.
This dichotomy has been my strength as well as my weakness. I still find myself looking for a tree when attending some fabulously female function.
I have, however, managed to resist the urge to play in the mud, on most occasions. Momma's efforts weren't a total loss, as I have mastered many social graces, just all in very short increments. I can be polite, mannerly, charming, and even suppress the desire to challenge the closest Prince Charming to a duel.
Obvioulsy each takes tremendous amounts of energy and goes against the very fiber of my being, yet can be summoned when necessary. 
It seems as though I am in for a very interesting year. The one Prince Charming who never backs down from my duels, lets me bait my own hook, understands my duality in a dress, opens every door yet closes none, has taken on the biggest challenge of his life. Bless his heart.
The Lego collecting, mud pie making, build a house instead of play house girl is getting married to the one man on earth who can handle her.
The next few months will, without a doubt, exacerbate my short comings in the "All girls know how" category. My insecurities will be magnified and my oddities will come to surface as I attempt to navigate the process known as wedding planning.
In all honesty, I am not sure who to call first, Martha Stewart, or the National Guard.
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