Saying Grace Over Edible Underwear

And the burden of "Ma'am"

I must confess that I still have a few lingering, unresolved issues from my traditional Southern Baptist upbringing, and it’s even starting to interfere with my sinning.

I must confess that I still have a few lingering, unresolved issues from my traditional Southern Baptist upbringing, and it’s even starting to interfere with my sinning.

For instance, I can’t lie about catching a big fish without thinking of Jonah and the whale, or enjoy a bottle of wine without thinking about Jesus and his party trick with the water.

I can’t stop respectfully saying “Ma’am” to women of all ages, even if it offends them, and if the opportunity ever presented itself, I would probably say “The Grace” before eating edible underwear.

But I’ll leave Jesus out of this, and we will peel back the underwear issue in a minute.

From a teetering, toddling age I was taught - nay, drilled – respect, manners, and appreciation, sometimes by repetition, sometimes at the stinging end of a belt or wooden spoon. Those manners included saying “please,” “thank you,” “sir” and “ma’am,” and, of course, always saying “The Grace,” or the prayer blessing, before any and every meal.

Southern Bible Belt faithful like the clan who raised me in lower South Carolina say Grace over almost every morsel of food that enters their bodies, from snack time to supper, from the teacher hurriedly mumbling a few words over a pack of crackers at her desk between classes, to the volunteer firefighters holding hands before the Firemen’s Supper.

Once, I started gobbling food before my father said the prayer, and my mother smacked me in the back of the head with such force that three peas, a string bean, and some mashed potatoes flew out of my nose, impacted with a far wall, and created a smiley-face-shaped work of abstract art.

To my parents, the idea of having a child say “no,” “yes,” “huh” or “what” instead of “sir” and “ma’am” in public is embarrassing enough to make a mother want to bury her head in a bag full of dry grits and can result in corporal punishment only slightly less violent than the Battle of Gettysburg.

I once forgot to say “ma’am” in front of other adults while shopping with my Momma in the Piggly Wiggly, and she spanked me until there was a traffic jam of store buggies, gawking shoppers, and concerned citizens that extended from aisle seven, past the meat department, to the produce counter. I once forgot to say “ma’am” in church, and my mother told my Daddy to give her his belt then took me outside “to have a word with me.” But the church walls were thin, and apparently everyone inside could hear my mother’s “words.” I was later told they said a special prayer for me during the Children’s Sermon.

So now, as an adult, I couldn’t stop if I tried. I say “ma’am” to every female life form on the planet, including rude telemarketers and collection agencies, young Girl Scouts peddling cookies, and high-school-age checkout girls in the grocery store. I say “ma’am” to Siri, her friend Alexis, the all-knowing virtual lady that gives me GPS directions on my phone, and even the recorded female voice at the fast-food drive-thru.

If I were to become a sexually deviant obscene phone caller, I’d probably still use my manners and work the word “ma’am” into my perverted routine.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you,” I’d likely say, breathing heavily into the phone. “But can you please tell me what you are wearing? Oh, yes ma’am, Daddy likes that!”

Which brings us back to the underwear. You know, those sugary, edible marital aids that some couples use to spice – or in this case sweeten – things up in bedroom.

In my 50-plus years, I’ve done a few worldly things, but I’ve never been asked to dine on a pair of edible underwear. But if the option were ever to suddenly appear on my late-night menu, I have no doubt that my Southern Baptist upbringing would kick in.

Not out of sacrilegious disrespect, but out of habit, I would probably kneel at the bedside in the heat of passion, clasp my hands together, close my eyes, and with bowed head say “Grace” to thank You-Know-Who for this bountiful blessing that has been put before me.

(Lord, please forgive me, and you, too, Momma.)

And when it was over, I’d probably say, “Thank you, ma’am.”