Wednesday, July 16, 2014


Several months ago, my daughter, Lydia, had a friend over to spend the night.  Harmless, right? Well, think again.  When that girl left, I was asked the following question:

"Am I going to have to get married when I turn nineteen or twenty so some guy can support me?"

After feeling of her head to make sure she wasn't experiencing a raging fever and then dousing my own face with a handful of cold water from the tap at the kitchen sink, I quickly learned that Lydia's teenage friend is being taught that a woman's place is to find a husband....with cash-ola.  As a mother of both boys and girls, I can tell you, this revelation nearly gave me the dry heaves.  Let's be clear on the subject.  I don't want my son marrying a girl who has been out treasure hunting for a guy who'll support her, and absolutely will not stand idly by while my daughter goes out scouting for a big bank account.

After making her best attempt to drag me off of my soap box, she continued:  

"But I have Dyslexia which will make college a near impossibility, and let's face it, all I'm really good at is music." Obviously her "friend" had driven the point home to her.  And a mighty sharp point it was.

You see, being from Nashville, the term "all I'm really good at is music" is like the death knell, and although only sixteen, Lydia knows it's true.  There are more starving musicians playing in open mic bars around this city than you can shake a stick at. Literally, some folks around here have been known to pay the bar owner for a space on stage when only a handful of regulars are expected to show up. Truth was, I couldn't let my baby girl think for one more moment that she had to find some fat cat boy to take care of her.  And more important than that, it would be over my dead body that she'd still be singing "Delta Dawn, What's That Flower You've Got On" from a small stage in Leipers Fork at the age of forty two.  So, like all truly southern girls who have been raised on cornbread, pinto beans, and a healthy dose of redneck moxie, I decided to solve the problem. I gathered myself and spoke up:

"Lydia, I'm sorry, but your friend doesn't have the good sense God gave a goose.  The fact that you are so good at music means you are creative, so do you know what we're going to do? We're going to invent something totally new. And we're going to do it right now."

Fortunately for me, Chappy, my own fat cat (what can I say? I don't always lead by example), was out of town with Caleb on a college visit, so that day it was just Lydia, Hope, Charlie, and me.  She had no choice but to indulge me and my brand new dream. We sat around for hours cookin' up things we could get into when we finally thought up the Bowtie Backslider.

"Now, honey,"  I told her, "this project can be your husband.  If you'll really nurture the Bowtie Backslider, it will buy you a car, send you on trips around the world, and even give you a big old comfy house to sleep in.  And the best part is, it won't ever talk back to you, tell you 'no', or ask you to go parading around the bedroom wearing high heels and a tiny nightie."  Her face was still showing a bit of skepticism, so I was forced to pull out the big guns:  "And plus, we could try to pitch it to the Shark Tank."

With that, the girl was sold.  Praise the Lord she is such a huge fan of Mark Cuban, Mr. Wonderful, and Lori Greiner.  Thanks to them, I won't be planning a wedding anytime soon!

On July 24th we will be traveling to Greenville, North Carolina to audition for The Shark Tank with our Bowtie Backsliders, and you can bet we will use every bit of charm we can muster to lure those highfalutin TV producers in to bite on our new business venture.  Until then, we'd sure appreciate it if you'd check out our new website and help us pass the word along:

And just one more thing for that friend of Lydia's: You've got a mind, so you don't need a man.  
Marry for love, because you want to,
Not for money, because you have to! 

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