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Dear Aunty Pam,

 

You seem to be pretty savvy about things, and I’m hoping you can help me.

I’m from New England. I married a Southern man and into his deeply Southern family.

They live about 20 minutes from us, and we tend to have Sunday brunch/lunch (after they return from church) together every couple of weeks, either at our house or with his parents. Ron’s ‘Mee-maw’ lives with Ron’s parents, and she makes these things called ‘cathead biscuits’ when we eat there, and when she comes to our house, she always makes some comment about the fact that I didn’t bake any cat head biscuits and “breakfast ain’t breakfast without cathead biscuits.”

I have tried to be polite and told her I try to avoid white flour and I’m not much of a baker, but I did make a batch of Pillsbury biscuits just for her last Sunday. She nibbled part of one and left the rest. When I asked her if she didn’t like them, she snapped, ‘Those taste like air with no flavor. You have to use lard and buttermilk.’ I told her that I would never use lard in anything and then she said, ‘Your problem is you don’t go to church. If you went to church, you’d know how to be a good wife and how to make a cathead biscuit.’

I was so insulted I told her that, in my opinion, a good wife wouldn’t try to kill her husband by stuffing lard into his arteries. Ron’s parents never looked up, and neither did Ron! Everybody just kept their eyes on their plate, eating and drinking their stupid sweet tea.

I went into the kitchen, made a Bloody Mary, came back, and finished my meal in silence with everybody else. When they left, I let Ron have it for not sticking up for me, and he said, ‘I know, but she’s an old woman set in her ways. And besides, I really like cathead biscuits.’

I’m beginning to wonder if I made a big mistake marrying into this family. Any advice?

 

Ron’s former wife

 

Dear Wife,

 

Actually, I would have made a pitcher of Bloody Marys instead of just a glass.

 

Look, Ron’s right. Mee-maw is in the bonus round of life. Make an old woman happy and bake a big platter of cathead biscuits for the family next Sunday— right after you take out a life insurance policy on Ron. If he’s been eating those biscuits since childhood, I can assure you his arteries are as clogged as I-85 heading into Charlotte.

 

Cheers, dears!!

Aunty Pam