Buying the Cow - No Bull

One of my good friends here in the Mountains brought me a present this past week.  It was a book entitled "Miss Becky's Charm School - Using Southern Belle Secrets to Land Your Man".  My God, I could have written the darn thing myself.    No where could you find a more complete and effective strategy for landing a man.  Chapters on Flirting,  Men Friendly Recipes, Communication - His and Hers, and the ever popular "Why Buy the Cow" suggested that Southern women have more arrows in their quill than the average woman.  I completely agreed with the premise that first you got to decide "Why You Wanted One" before deciding on the ammunition. Your needs have to coincide with your weapons of choice. And the ammo?  I had shades of  Dating resembling the Hunger Games with a bunch of us old women running around trying to get the best push up bar.  Stabbing someone in the back for the last shot of  Botox.  Before killing every other single woman in town,  you might want to decide "What Kind of Man Do You Want?" so as to prepare yourself for your choices.  I also found type casting to be accurate as far the kind of men available.  You got your "Redneck" to your "Southern Gentleman" and a whole lot in between.   She did fail, however, to realize that she did not fully cover the ever popular "Sociopath" nor the ever present "Obviously Gay" who I have found to be so in abundant in both the Mountains of Georgia and the Beaches of Alabama. While I agreed with the "Trashy is as Trashy Does" premise, I do not believe that you can wear too much jewelry.  Yes, your hair can be too big, but I don't know that your eyelashes can be and I have really never heard a man say "I just can't date her, her boobs are too big".   Now to be honest I don't think I could ever recite any of the pick-up lines suggested with a straight face.  If I bat my eyelashes, it could effect my glaucoma.  If I dropped something and reached down to retrieve it looking helpless, I might find I am and not be able to get up. And admiring the size of his hands(as opposed to the size of his shoes?).  Well, you get my point.  I have promised myself that I will read it over and over though in case I find a man in the North Georgia Mountains who does have nice hands i.e. clean, no blood of deer, axle grease or nicotine stains, so I will have my Southern Belle down to a perfection.  I think I remember how it goes. For the most part though, I seem to be invisible to most men but I am still a tiny bit of an optimist.   If I don't meet "Mr. Right Now" pretty soon I believe I will start to resemble the people that work at those Oriental Restaurants at the Mall.  Running around smiling and trying to give out samples. Canape?