Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank: And Other Words of Delicate Southern Wisdom [NOOK Book]


Celia Rivenbark's essays about life in today's South are like caramel popcorn---sweet, salty, and utterly irresistible

Celia Rivenbark is a master at summing up the South in all its glorious excesses and contradictions. In this collection of screamingly funny essays, you'll discover:

* How to get your kid into a character breakfast at Disneyworld (or run the risk of ...

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Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank: And Other Words of Delicate Southern Wisdom

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Celia Rivenbark's essays about life in today's South are like caramel popcorn---sweet, salty, and utterly irresistible

Celia Rivenbark is a master at summing up the South in all its glorious excesses and contradictions. In this collection of screamingly funny essays, you'll discover:

* How to get your kid into a character breakfast at Disneyworld (or run the risk of eating chicken out of a bucket with Sneezy)

* Secrets of Celebrity Moms (don't hate them because they're beautiful when there are so many other reasons to hate them)

* EBay addiction and why "It ain't worth having if it ain't on eBay" (Whoa! Is that Willie Nelson's face in your grits?)

* Why today's children's clothes make six-year-olds look like Vegas showgirls with an abundance of anger issues

* And so much more!

Rivenbark is an intrepid explorer and acid commentator on the land south of the Mason-Dixon line.

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Editorial Reviews

From Barnes & Noble
If you have ever wondered why neighborhood moms dress their darling little girls in outfits that would make L'il Kim blush, this is the book for you. In this laugh out loud follow-up to Bless Your Heart, Tramp, southern humorist Celia Rivenbark casts a jaunty and jaundiced eye on suburban parenting, celebrity pregnancy, and fashion trends like "buttocks cleavage."
Publishers Weekly
In some 32 short essays on the ridiculousness of modern life, Rivenbark (Bless Your Heart, Tramp; We're Just Like You, Only Prettier) wanders through Tweenland at the mall, thinking a better name would be "Lil Skanks." She thinks that the Cruise/Holmes pregnancy has an "indescribably delicious" Rosemary's Baby feel to it and recalls that Monica Lewinsky hosted a TV dating show-in which she "didn't get the guy." Rivenbark riffs on America's crazier obsessions-the painful but obligatory pilgrimage to Disney World, the new attention to "buttocks cleavage," coffee makers calling themselves baristas, or those celebrity moms who have "bumps" instead of babies. Rivenbark describes herself as a "slacker mom" and reminds readers to learn something from men-"because no matter how slack a dad is, if he does the least little thing, people gush over him." This is a hilarious read, perhaps best enjoyed while eating Krispy Kremes with a few girlfriends. (Sept.) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
From the Publisher
"This is a hilarious read, perhaps best enjoyed while eating Krispy Kremes with a few girlfriends."

Publishers Weekly


"She kills in the ''Kids'' and ''Southern-Style Silliness'' sections, putting the fear of Mickey into anyone planning a trip to Disney World."

Entertainment Weekly


Praise for Celia Rivenbark and We’re Just Like You, Only Prettier

“Will give you a case of the giggles.”

New York Daily News

“Warm, witty, and wise, rather like reading dispatches from a friend who uses e-mail but still writes letters, in ink, on good paper.”

—St. Petersburg Times

“Even diehard Yankees will appreciate this wickedly funny collection.”

—Dallas Morning News

“North Carolina doesn’t have a post for a ‘humorist laureate,’ but it should invent one and install Celia Rivenbark.”

--Greensboro News & Record

“I thought I was Southern until I read Celia Rivenbark’s book....What a funny, smart, and irreverent writer she is!”

—Lee Smith, author of The Last Girls

"Laugh-out-loud funny.”

—Cleveland Plain Dealer

“A collection of essays by a woman working in her element…Rivenbark writes with that breezy, irreverent allure that makes so many of these belles legendary.”

—-Blue Ridge Business Journal

“An edgy Erma. An Erma dipped in corn-bread batter, wrapped in collard greens, and drawling that she was speeding because ‘my uterus told me to.’ ”

The Tennessean

“A hoot and a holler.”

—Boston Herald

“I laughed so hard reading this book, I began snorting in an unbecoming fashion.”

—Haven Kimmel, author of A Girl Named Zippy

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781429918817
  • Publisher: St. Martin's Press
  • Publication date: 9/4/2007
  • Sold by: Macmillan
  • Format: eBook
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 272
  • Sales rank: 233,489
  • Product dimensions: 5.50 (w) x 8.25 (h) x 0.93 (d)
  • File size: 327 KB

Meet the Author

Celia Rivenbark

Celia Rivenbark is the bestselling author of Bless Your Heart, Tramp and We're Just Like You, Only Prettier. She lives in North Carolina with her husband and daughter.

Celia Rivenbark is the author of the award-winning bestsellers Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank; Bless Your Heart, Tramp; Belle Weather; and You Can't Drink All Day If You Don't Start in the Morning. We're Just Like You, Only Prettier won a Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance (SIBA) Book Award for nonfiction and was a finalist for the James Thurber Prize for American Humor. Born and raised in Duplin County, North Carolina, Rivenbark grew up in a small house "with a red barn out back that was populated by a couple of dozen lanky and unvaccinated cats." She started out writing for her hometown paper. She writes a weekly, nationally syndicated humor column for the Myrtle Beach Sun News. She lives in Wilmington, North Carolina.
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Read an Excerpt

Chapter One
There's Always Tomorrow(land)

"If You Really Loved Me, You'd Buy Me Pal Mickey"

Studies say that children don't remember all that much, and certainly nothing good, until they are at least six years old. So there was no way we were going to waste hundreds, perhaps millions, of dollars on a family trip to Disney World until Sophie could remember in minute detail what wonderful, generous parents we were.

That said, the trip was finally scheduled, and we began to anticipate five days and four nights of fabulous forced family fun, fun, fun! When I told another mom of our plans at a birthday party, she beamed. "Did you get the early seating at Cinderella's Gala Feast?"

"Say who?"

"The Gala Feast! What about your character breakfast? Did you book Pooh at the Crystal Palace or Pluto and Goofy at Liberty Square or Donald and Mickey at Restaurantosaurus?"


"Oh, for heaven's sake," she huffed. Turning away from me, she summoned a few of the other moms over. "She's going to Disney and she hasn't booked her character breakfasts yet."

Some of them laughed so hard, they turned inside out.

My friend Lisa whipped out her dog-eared copy of the 475-page Katie Couric-endorsed Walt Disney World with Kids, a book that I have since discovered is more valuable than a dime-store poncho for the wacky waterfall rides. (Sure, you could buy the officially sanctioned Disney poncho, for approximately twenty-six dollars, but why not pack the ninety-nine-cent version from Eckerd?)

"You must book these things ninety to a hundred and twenty days in advance," she said. "Do you think that tickets to the Hoop-Dee-Doo Musical Revue just fall out of the sky?"


As it turns out, you must--and I am not making this up--call the Disney dining hotline at exactly 7:00 a.m. exactly ninety days ahead of time. At that moment, mommies across this great land are groggily poised over their phones in hopes of getting these in-demand seats.

"Why can't I just call at nine?" I moaned. "I'm not really a morning person."

"Well, you can," said Lisa, "but you'll end up eating chicken out of a bucket with Sneezy. Is that what you want? Is it?"

I was so ashamed. Who knew?

Thank goodness I'd had this whole conversation in time to right the wrong. I hovered over my phone exactly sixty days before our trip, just as I had been told during an exploratory call to the Disney dining folks.

"Sorry, that event is ninety days out. We have nothing left," said the chirpy Disney rep.

"No, no! You told me sixty days, not ninety!"

"I'm sorry, but these things change according to season and demand. I'm afraid you'll have to eat chicken out of a bucket with Sneezy."

Good thing we've got the ponchos, I thought to myself.

The Disney wars had been raging in my little family for two years, ever since that fateful school holiday when we were the only family that didn't leave town.

When I first learned that my daughter would have a week off of kindergarten because of "spring break," I laughed so hard, I almost choked on my McRib. (Motto: "Back but still alarmingly mediocre!")

"Spring break!" I snorted. "For kindergarten?" Does a five-year-old honestly need a whole week off after a tough four months of learning to share?

Was she going to demand a trip to Daytona Beach with some gal pals, a rented convertible, and a beer bong?

What up? I asked some of the savvier moms.

"This is when you go to Disney World," they chanted in unison. Their arms shot straight out from their bodies, and they toy-soldier-marched away from me, the Clueless Mommy.

Well, Disney World was certainly better than my mental image of tots showing up on MTV's Spring Break Party and STD Fest screaming "wooo-woooo!" for no apparent reason.

Having no idea that we were supposed to go to Disney World for spring break, I decided to salvage the situation by devising a week of "fun activities." On Day One, I spent four hours assembling a child-size pottery wheel before hurling the useless gizmo across the kitchen after realizing that a part was missing. Then it was off to the park, where I was overjoyed to see a mommy and daughter we knew playing together.

"Guess we're the only ones in town who didn't go to Disney World," I said brightly.

She hung her head. "We're leaving in the morning. Couldn't get a flight out until then."

Her tone was so serious that I had a flashback to those poor souls clinging to the helicopter skids during the fall of Saigon in 1975.

Sophie happily recited how she'd had a fun morning of watching mommy wrestle with the pottery-wheel-that-wasn't and screaming "Taiwanese piece of shit!" a lot.

It was a Kodak moment, I tell you.

On Day Two of our fun-filled Disney-less holiday, we decided to visit another park, one with a few more slides and swings.

"Wow! Now this is a park!" I said with much more enthusiasm than I felt. I tried not to pay attention to the fact that we were the only people there outside of a few homeschooled kids who, for reasons that I've never understood, insist on wearing long denim skirts everywhere they go.

Whew, I thought to myself. At first I thought the Rapture had come and we'd been overlooked, but I'm sure the homeschoolers would've made the cut.

"Isn't this great, honey?" I said in my best fake gush.

"At Disney World, they have a forty-foot-tall Pongo from 101 Dalmatians and a swimming pool shaped like a grand piano and a waterslide where you spit right out of the sea serpent's mouth!" my daughter said.

"Oh, yeah? Well, over there is a fire ant hill. What do you want? Fantasy or real life?"

"I want the Seven Seas Lagoon and breakfast with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs," she said.

"Not to worry. That guy sleeping on the bench over there looks a lot like Dopey."

Of course, after a couple of years of this, we realized there was no putting off our trip to Disney any longer.

We'd done rustic, noncommerical kinds of vacations (read: no cable) before, but I was sick of all the nature and lobsters that we found in our visits to a family cabin in Maine. I was craving total escape and plastic happiness, and no one delivers that like Disney.

Besides, I was getting a little burned out on lobster. The last time we'd gone to Maine (state motto: "The Prettiest Place on Earth for Maybe Forty-five to Sixty Days of the Year"), we went during the high season for lobsters.

Here's a typical restaurant experience in Maine.

ME: I'll have the fillet wrapped in bacon, and steamed broccoli for my side dish.

WAITRESS: I'm sorry. We're out of that. How about some delicious Maine lobster?

ME: Well, it is undeniably delicious, but I've eaten steamed lobster now three times a day for five days, and I'm fairly much over it. Do you have anything else?

WAITRESS: Sure we do! We have lobster salad, lobster rolls, and lobster bisque.

ME: No, no, I mean do you have any specials that don't involve lobster?

WAITRESS: This is Maine. Isn't this why you come up here? All the tourists love our lobsters and our delicious Maine syrup that we sell in overpriced bottles shaped just like maple leaves.

ME: Yes, they're charming. Okay, how about a sandwich for my kid? Maybe some peanut butter?

WAITRESS (excited): With lobster jelly?

Suffice it to say, we were all ready for a change, and you couldn't get further from the scenic beauty of Maine than Disney World, still beautiful in its own way.

So we did it! We bought plane tickets and even opted to stay at a hotel on-site, although Disney World's definition of on-site is rather generous. While technically still on Disney property, our, ahem, budget-priced Disney hotel was still a twenty-minute bus ride from everything.

My husband complained that "Next time, we're going to stay at one of the places on the monorail," and I explained that they cost five hundred dollars a night compared to our nifty sixty-eight dollars a night with tub faucets that let you twist Jimmy Neutron's head clean off if you want to. And I have always wanted to.

"Only the codgers stay in this place," I said, trying not to look wistful as we strolled across the shiny marble floors in the Grand Floridian's lobby.

There was no denying that boarding that bus every morning for our fourteen-hour day was getting a little old. Most of the time we managed to get seats, but this meant that the twenty or so left standing stuck their behinds in our faces. I pressed my head to the window and turned sideways, making myself flat as a flounder to avoid the dreaded face full of stranger ass.

On our first night at Disney, we surprised Sophie with late seating for Cinderella's Gala Feast, where you get to spend thirty-seven dollars for chicken fingers and buttered noodles shaped like Ariel the mermaid. It's worth it because Cinderella herself strolls from table to table posing for pictures and smiling demurely.

Thanks to a tip from a smart mommy friend of mine, I knew that Sophie would need to be dressed in full princess regalia: a poufy ice-blue Cinderella gown and coordinating "glass" slippers. Otherwise, we'd have been like the sad Ohio family with the screaming little girl: "Everybody else is dressed up. I HATE YOU!"

We spent the next three days getting up at dawn, wolfing microwaved pancakes shaped like Mickey's head at the "food" court, and queuing up for the bus that would take us to whatever magical adventure awaited.

At the end of our fourth fourteen-hour day in a row, I found myself standing under the big metallic golf ball thingy in Epcot, screaming to my husband: "If you don't let us rest, I'm going to kill you and then divorce you!"

"Fine, fine," he muttered absentmindedly while consulting his wrinkled park map. "You can rest while we board Spaceship Earth. By the way, did you know that Epcot stands for Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow?"

"We know, Daddy," said Soph.

He looked hurt.

Disney had turned my normally laid-back hubby into a goal-oriented nut job. On Day One, we visited Magic Kingdom and Epcot; Day Two was Animal Kingdom and back to Epcot; Day Three was MGM and, you guessed it, Epcot; Day Four was Magic Kingdom, Epcot, and Downtown Disney; Day Five was Magic Kingdom until the flight home. Never have so few seen so much in such a short time.

I started to understand why so many people rent electric scooters to get through the park, although I grew to hate their irritated-sounding little horns as drivers tried to part the sea of tourists like Moses on a moped.

Disney inspires this sort of weird competitiveness. My husband took enormous pride in having us first in line every morning at the park of the day. He planned our stops with military precision, at one time warning us that we had "T minus three minutes to pee" or we'd miss Buzz Lightyear's Space Ranger Spin.

As we hurried out of yet another sparkling Disney restroom (these people descend on a gum wrapper like a SWAT team), I heard a little boy crying and watched his father get down on one knee to console him. "You know, son, you better tell me what the shit you're crying about, 'cause you're the only reason we're here!"

What can I tell you? Failure to get a Fastpass for Space Mountain can make a parent do crazy things.

As the week wore on, we became a Disney movie unto ourselves. Honey, I Shrunk the Bank Account opens with a tight shot of the three of us wolfing four-dollar hot dogs washed down with Cokes in twelve-dollar souvenir cups in Tomorrowland. I tried not to think about how much delicious Maine lobster that would have bought.

Is Disney expensive? Well, yes. Is it worth it? You bet your eleven-dollar fluorescent hot pink spring-loaded mouse ears it is.

Like any place that attracts kids, there were gift kiosks and shops everywhere. I had to admit it was all a lot more cheery than our last family trip, which had included a visit to the traveling Titanic exhibit. After a heartrending tour of the ship, you were dumped directly into a themed gift shop that sold glow-in-the-dark "icebergs" and even a foot-long replica of the Titanic made of milk chocolate. What kind of lesson was that? "Titanic: The Candy Bar That Hundreds Died For! Bite steerage in the morning and save first class for an afternoon snack!"

I saw plenty of Disney-philes push-pulling huge coolers full of snacks through the parks. I can't imagine going to the trouble, myself. There's sensible, and then there's just stupid-cheap. (Overheard in front of Mickey's PhilharMagic: "Sissie, it's you and Memaw's turn to watch the cooler.") You've already paid $150 for a four-day park pass, and you're quibbling over a sixteen-dollar lunch? Get over yourself.

A friend who always stays at the Disney campground (remember, Disney-style camping isn't exactly roughing it--they have their own shows and cabins with cable) told me she can fix dinner right there and save money on meals out. I told her I'd rather have a threesome with Chip 'n' Dale than cook on vacation, but to each her own.

By the end of the trip, Disney's merchandising magic had done its job: Sophie became obsessed with Pal Mickey, a "huggable, lovable interactive Theme Park tour guide." He's stuffed, stands about a foot tall, and costs $56.33. She tearfully begged for Pal Mickey, and we said no. It was silly, we thought, to buy a stuffed animal that yammered endlessly about park hours and attractions when we'd be home soon.

On our last day, as we boarded the very last bus that would take us back to the hotel before grabbing a cab to the airport, Sophie seemed to have moved past Pal Mickey. We had gone exactly one hour and thirty-five minutes without hearing about him. Home free, I thought.

There was only one seat left on the bus. Soph and I took it. And then I saw Pal Mickey grinning at us across the aisle. Soph started talking to his owner, who later became known as "You know, the little girl whose parents really do love her."

The little girl's parents, who were wearing matching XXL Donald Duck sweatshirts and fanny packs emblazoned with all seven dwarfs, glared at my husband and me as if we should be reported to Child Protective Services.

I could read their minds: Cheap jerks. Buy the kid Pal Mickey. And I hoped they couldn't read mine: Y'all are really fat.

The truth is, everybody at Disney World is fat. If you're not fat when you go, you're fat coming out. I walked fourteen miles a day and couldn't zip my jeans by the end of the trip. Go figure.

I think it's something in the hot dogs.

Copyright © 2006 by Celia Rivenbark
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 39 )
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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 39 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 14, 2012

    LOVE! Just as laugh out loud funny as the last...

    Her books never let me down! When I need a good laugh-til-I-snort-books, I get it every time! Hilarious "hons". She hits the Southern nail right on the head with the most delicious sarcasm, it's like she sat in on one of my family dys-functions. Can't wait til I get to sit down and read the next one. Keep 'em coming please!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 8, 2012


    Blech. Not funny.

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  • Posted January 16, 2011

    Loved it!

    so many funny bits in this book....bought a copy for all my friends

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  • Posted November 2, 2010

    Highly Recommended

    I loved this book! I laughed so very hard and enjoyed every page! If you are a mom it is a must read!

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  • Posted August 22, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Love the Humor!

    I love love love this woman's books her humor is so good! She just tells it like it is in the chapter for the title of this book she writes about when her daughter grows up from 4-6x to size 7-16

    "There must be some mistake," I said. "These are, well, slutty-looking. I'm talking clothes for a little girl in first grade."

    "Thats all we got."

    "But these look like things a hooker would wear!"

    She smiled sadly. "You have no idea how many times I hear that every day."

    I enjoy the way she sees life and agree with her on most of what she writes, I wish I could put it as well as she does! She tackles everything from celebrity moms to the anti-carb movement to bin laden. No subject is safe and Celia Rivenbark will tell it like it is no matter who get offended and I love that about her, like she say I write a humor column not a news story.

    If you enjoy humor (i.e. Dave Barry) or the wit and wisdom of your southern outspoken aunt this book is for you al her books are hilarious I highly recommend them when you are looking for a laugh and some light-hearted reading
    4 ½ Stars

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  • Posted April 25, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Celia has done it again in ~ Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank

    I just love the her books. This one did not disappoint. Her way with words and her vast knowledge of Southern mannerisms is just phenominal. I no longer have a 6-year-old but I can so relate with the situations she portrays. I remember talking with my friends and family about how clothing for children has gotten so "adult-like" and Celia goes and writes a book with my thoughts. Get out of my head Ms. Rivenbark! LOL :) She is right on target about the obsessions parents (especially some mothers) have with giving in to their children and getting them eveything they want "by any means necessary." Her comedic prose and essays are just wonderful. If you read no other "chick lit" author this year, I'd say you MUST read a Celia Rivenbark book or two or three or four. Once you've read this one, you'll want to read the rest. It's a pick up, never to be put down until you're finished kind of book. Get it, you won't be sorry!

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  • Posted February 20, 2010


    I laughed out out repeatedly, then bought 2 copies to give as gifts to other Southern-Mommy friends. Every single one of Celia Rivenbark's books is funny - but this is my favorite one.

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  • Posted July 10, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    A Good Laugh On Summer Days!

    I picked this book up after reading a sad, teary eyed book in hopes that this would brighten my outlook. And it did! What a wonderful read when you just want to laugh at others!

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  • Posted February 9, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Just a HOOT! (Okay, tone it down, it's more hysterical than hooty.)

    Ms. Rivenbark must channel me...AND my friends. She's smart, quick, and says the things I want to say, or have thought -- am I the ONLY one?!! I guess I'm not! This is one of the very few books I've read in bed that's either had my husband looking at me saying, "WHAT!?" or he's upset because I've woken him up when I couldn't put the book down before turning out the light and burst out giggling or "ha"-ing really, REALLY loudly. It's light, it's smart, it's irreverent (but in the exact same way I'm thinking myself). It's the very first book I grabbed to give to a friend who just had surgery because I KNOW this will make her enjoy the days after surgery, because she will laugh. Thank you, Celia. I've just bought another one of your books ("tramp") and will most definitely buy (and laugh with) the others. You've got yourself a fan. I'd love to do lunch and pick on the current lineup of "stars".

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  • Posted November 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:


    This book was pure funny! I know the title is a bit shocking, but it's true! I see some little girls looking older than me, and I'm 15! And the clothes some parents buy for little girls look like the parents are preparing them to work on the corner or become strippers when they grow up. Then when they see their child on the news being arrested for prostitution, they are gonna say, "What happened to her? What went wrong?!" Then I'll say," Hmmmm, maybe it was about 15 or 20 years ago when she was 6 wearing a shirt saying ' Look But Don't Touch'."

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 4, 2008

    Wet your pants funny!!!

    This book was right on the money - I laughed from the beginning to the end. My youngest daughter came in to check on my at one point because I was laughing so hard I was crying. Celia Rivenbark knows how to write about the South because she is a Southern Belle. I read this book over the winter break from school in less than 24 hours. I could not put it down. LOVED IT!!! I can hardly wait for her next book to come out!!!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 13, 2007


    I'm not a big reader, but I do live in the south. This is one of the only books that I've bought after just reading the first few pages. After the first story, I was hooked and actually finished the book (I'm a habitual non-finisher of books). If you live in the south, you'll understand. If you don't, it's still pretty funny. It's a nice, light read and will keep you laughing. I intend to buy her other books as well.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 29, 2007

    NOT funny

    I bought this book b/c it looked like a cute book that would be funny, but I was definately wrong. The author tried way too hard to be humorous and it came across as sounding fake. You can tell when someone is naturally funny, and when they try to be and end up sounding desperate. That's exactly what this was. If you want to read it, borrow it at the library. Definately not worth buying.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 25, 2007

    Bah, ha, ha! Snort, snort!!!

    This is the funniest book I've ever read. I found myself stopping and exclaiming, 'That is sooo true!' and laughing right out loud!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 20, 2006

    Buy it

    This book says what we all think about people who behave stupidly--- and is as nice as pie doing it. I laughed out loud reading this. A great light-hearted read.

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

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    a reviewer

    These thirty-two essays, which divide into five parts (Kids, Celebrities, Vanity Flares, Huzzzbands, and Southern Style Silliness), are amusing satirical commentaries that use irony to lampoon ¿values¿. Whether it is the horde of politicians who share values with voters during election time (but not year round) or breaking bread with the Disney crowd, each entry humorously places the subject in a contradictory paradoxical light. Celebrity scent or slacker dads who are heroes when they put a toilet seat down, Celia Rivenbark rips the subject using lighthearted (sometimes right hooks ask morality drug czar Bennett losing millions at gambling, or the wannabe first lady ¿ketchup queen¿ meddling with the four year old, etc.) barbs. This is a terrific entreating commentary that reminds readers to ¿go Cheney¿ and look closely at the insincerity in life that leaves this reviewer thinking of changing the name of the Pygmalion Effect to the Bush Effect as he has made Iraq the center of the war on terrorism. --- Harriet Klausner

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