Monica! Monica! Monica!

I was telling Penny of Life on Swan Pond about my sister-friend, Monica and how when she lived across the river from my parents she and my sister, Amy, would flash their porch lights at each other to say, 'hi,' or 'good night,' or 'I made it home okay.'

And now, with TVA's gift that keeps on giving, Monica and her kids are all sick and having to relocate.

But talking about that memory brought up others I thought I'd share.

I call Monica my sister-friend because over the past two decades she has become family. She's at all the family get-togethers. She calls my parents on a regular basis. We all want to know what's going on in each other's lives. She's basically a sister. BUT, she is also my arch nemesis.

How did we meet? It was about twenty years ago. Monica is the older sister of my sister's high school prom date. She was the ex-girlfriend of my then-current boyfriend.

My sister pointed Monica out in the gym one day and Monica caught me looking over at her in the mirror. Her first words to me were, "What are you looking at?!" To which I responded, "Nuthin'! Gawl!" (I was quite the little conversationalist back then).

Monica was my parents' tenant.

She is my sister's best friend.

She is the Marcia Brady to my Jan.

I've had to learn to embrace that.

I've also had to overcome the fact that she's stunning. I'm talking gorgeous! Case in point: The men in the neighborhood actually established a phone tree for when she went jogging! It went a little something like this--

"She's coming your way."

"I'm heading to the window now. I'll call Wendell."

"Alright. I'll call Frank."

She has great bone structure, flawless skin, it's the kind of pretty that you can't help but stare at. Until it becomes awkward. And then you have to shake yourself out of it.

"I've been staring an uncomfortable amount of time again, haven't I?"

"A little bit."

"So, you say you just wake up looking like that?"

"Yeah. I'm up and out the door in about 5 minutes."

"Huh... God must really hate me."

She has her good points, though. My favorite thing about Monica is that she's so entertaining. And, truly, a great representation of a southern woman. She has her own way of talking that outsiders (Yankee folk) don't understand.

The first time my husband met her we were going to a club in Knoxville. My sister was driving, Monica was in the front passenger seat. Mike and I were in the back. And Monica's talking away, hands are flying everywhere as she talks, because, like most southern women I know (myself included), if you were to tie Monica's hands down, you would render her speechless.

Anyway, she's chatting away saying things like "Law!" and "I swan" and other colloquialisms that often require interpretation, when my husband leans over and says, "I don't understand the words that are coming out of her mouth."

Yup, I married a Yankee. Or, as one family member put it, "a damn Yankee." (We true southerners are nothing if not steadfast in our grudges)

I've been out of the south for quite some time now and have lost almost all of my southern accent. Sad, but true. But when I go home to visit, particularly if I'm around Monica. It all comes rushing back.

"Why are you talking like that?" Mike asks.

"Law, I don't know."

"You're scaring me."

And I think it does scare Mike a little. Because he doesn't understand southern women. He's confused by them. After all, that's how I got him to marry me.

He asked me one time why Monica was so nice (remember, he's a Yankee, he's not familiar with southern "nice"). I said, "What're you talkin' about?"

"Well, I just think maybe you could learn a few things from your friend, there."

Me? Learn from my arch-nemesis? NE-VAH! "Meaning?"

"Well, the other day when you and your sister were cackling about my little incident on the slip n' slide, your friend Monica didn't seem to feel the need to make fun of me."

Now, since I was there, I knew this wasn't true. So, now it was my turn to be confused.

"What are you talking about, Mike?"

"Well, while you're over there calling me names like 'Genius' and 'Rocket-Scientist' all Monica had to say was 'Bless his heart.' And I just think you could take a lesson--"

"Hon, where is that southern to Yankee dictionary I got you a few years back?"

"I don't know, why?"

"Because, 'bless his heart' has many meanings. And in this case it means 'what a dumbass.'

"It does not!"

"It does."

"Nooo."

"Yes.

"Try it. If I were to say, "Mike, I went shopping today after you told me to wait until the 15th and I think I might have bounced a check, you would say..."

(after some thinking) "Bless your heart?"

"Right! And if I were to say, "My girlfriend Rachelle is pregnant again, you would say..."

(a little quicker now) "Bless her heart?"

"Correct! And if I were to tell you I found your cell phone. You left it in your pants pocket again and it went through the wash. The appropriate response would be..."

(on the beat now) "Bless my heart."

"You got it!"

"Well, wait a minute... she's been blessing my heart all week!"

"Well, then that's because she thinks you're a dumbass."

Sigh. Good times. Good times.

Such fun memories of my sister-friend Monica. And now, she and her kids are sick and having to relocate.

To the management of TVA I say, "Bless y'alls heart."