Why Southerners are Terrible at Quarantine

It feels like day one zillion of this whole COVID-19 situation, doesn't it? And while states are reopening and we are starting to slowly emerge from our isolation, it looks like it is going to be quite some time before we get back to any kind of normal. I'm in North Carolina, where we still haven't gotten our restaurants or hair and nail salons back (among other things). Meanwhile, my family and friends in Georgia and South Carolina are dining out again to some degree, getting highlights and pedicures, and generally praising the Lord this ordeal could be coming to a close.

Hunker down and hold on, y'all. 2020 is taking us for some kind of a ride.

Southerners, more so than anyone, were not made for quarantine. This is for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that we can't communicate without touching. We are huggers--we hug hello, goodbye, at the end of a good story, you name it. You can't attend a proper Southern gathering without hearing the phrase "come here and let me hug your neck"--and if you don't hear that tossed in your direction, you need to immediately set out to figure who you have majorly ticked off and why. Southerners are squeezers, back slappers, hand shakers, cheek kissers, and arm touchers. To say social distancing is not our forte is like saying we aren't great at driving in snow...it's an extreme understatement.

Quarantine is also miserable for Southerners because admittedly, we are a pretty vain bunch. We like big hair, "teased to Jesus," and lots of sparkle and shine from our makeup to our wardrobes. Suddenly, we are forced to shelter in place, and getting dressed to the nines to watch Wheel of Fortune reruns seems a little over the top, even for the most Southern of belles. Spring has sprung, and our seersucker and patent leather is gathering cobwebs in the closet. This coronavirus dress code is pandemic casual, and it's not great fashion. It's a waste of good mascara is what it is, when the only thing to bat your eyelashes at is the family dog. My dog is precious, but he is not worthy of department store cosmetics.

This pandemic has also caused a ban on mass gatherings. Church has been canceled (my very Southern mama paid a wistful tribute Easter Sunday morning to all the beautiful outfits that never got to make their debut this year, but I suppose that falls under my previous point about vanity). We have been told not to congregate in groups of more than ten people, which again, causes some issue for us in the South. Have you seen the food we love? Do you know how many people a quality casserole will feed? We have now been confined to our homes with nothing to comfort our souls but delicious food, and we can't even share it with fifty of our closest friends. COVID has nixed our potlucks. Our good clothes are going to be uncomfortably snug when that glorious time comes to get them out again.

Southern folks excel at potluck, not pandemic.

Southerners pride themselves on being social people. Our big front porches were made for gathering, and it's hard to sit in a rocking chair sipping a cold beverage and chatting while wearing a face mask. Quarantine goes against even the smallest ways of Southern life--we live in a place where the grocery store or a trip to Walmart is more than an errand, it's a meet up. You never know who you may reunite with in the frozen food aisle, and you're certain to get more news than the local paper can print when you run into the head of the Baptist church's hospitality committee on aisle eight. If we have to stay six feet apart, how can we gossip keep each other informed?

The end of this crazy time cannot come soon enough for anyone, but down South, we feel a specialized sense of loss. We're all just bumbling around trying not to hug, wearing our pajamas or (in the event of a dressy quarantine occasion) a souvenir t-shirt from a beach vacation all day, eating casseroles straight out of the Pyrex dishes. I bet we never take a good dinner party for granted ever again after this, y'all. And to those folks trying to say they have enjoyed this simpler time and the seclusion it has demanded, I'm not even going to bless your heart: you keep talking like that and I will force feed you a big batch of unseasoned collard greens. This is not the way the world was meant to work, and I have the party clothes and potluck recipes to prove it. As my grandmother would say, you hush your mouth (and wash your hands). I'll see you on the other side of this, and you better believe I'll be teased to Jesus!