Yesterday, I went down to our little local ‘general store’, if you will, to pick up a loaf of bread.  I was talking with one of the owners, who is a very nice lady, and we were discussing their produce stand.  I told her that I have been raising laying hens and would like to sell eggs, but that I had some older hens that need to be, how shall we say, removed from the flock due to their inefficiency.  She laughed and said, “Well imagine that!  A city girl doing all of that!”. 

My mind reeled in horror.  ME???  A ‘city girl’?  The phrase ‘city girl’  brings up images of girls who would never dare to soil their hands, touch a bug, or do anything which was ‘unbecoming of a young lady’.  A girl who wouldn’t touch an animal outside of a dog or cat, would rather stay in the air conditioning than to go outside, and would rather do anything on earth than sit on a pier with a fishing pole.  I also see visions of acrylic nails, country clubs, and attempting to keep up with the Joneses.  Ok, maybe I am confusing ‘city girl’ with ‘spoiled rich brat’, but I will venture to say that I am neither, perhaps with the exception of being spoiled.

  After all, we are talking about a person who, at a tender age of about 6, would chase the little boys all over the school playground with caterpillars, and BEGGED my Papaw to shoot a rabbit, so she could have its fur.  This same small girl fished with her Papaw as often as possible, and watched in awe when he cleaned them because she wanted to see what was going on in the inside.   A person who, while in high school,  brought home a pot bellied pig to live in her bathroom, took auto mechanics, and skipped school to go bass fishing.   A person who, even still at the age of 32, has four insects mounted on a styrofoam Dairy Queen cup in her kitchen ‘because they’re cool’. 

A ‘city girl’?  Perhaps in my location, but never in my heart.