Paris Hilton Outrage

So much for your image as the sweet, brainless Southern Belle, Erma–not that I haven’t known it for thirty years. When we first met, people used to say, “Isn’t Erma the sweetest thing? But, you know, she hasn’t a brain in her head. She just gets along by batting those baby blue eyes and looking helpless. And that drawl? Surely not even in the deep South do girls still talk that way.”

I wasn’t fooled for very long. It was evident that behind that charming smile, there was a clever and conniving woman. I think the first time I realized it was when we were working on a luncheon for the Republican Women’s Club in Ventura County. All the rest of us younger wives were assigned the jobs like decorating the tables, and providing the food. You were given the difficult task of having everyone sign in at the door. I was sweating like a pig arranging the buffet table, and there you sat in your pink silk suit and matching hat telling the guests to please sign the Guest Book. After all, as one of the Powers-That-Be explained to us peons at the buffet table, that is all that poor little Erma can do. She just isn’t cut out for hard work.

I suspected the ditzy Southern girl thing was mostly an act, and then one day you confirmed it when you told me that you were a firm believer in Scrooge McDuck’s philosophy: Work smarter, not harder. The “smarter” girl was greeting the guests, the “dumber” girls were serving the food.

So, here you are right in the middle of another one of your pickled fruit desserts–ladies with coin silver spoons? Erma, not even in your youth were ladies sitting around on verandas nibbling on Strawberries Armagnac, were they?

By the way, ditzy blonde you didn’t finish the recipe. Anyway there you were raiding the liquor store for this dessert and suddenly you start in on the Paris Hilton Outrage. Have you no sympathy for a fellow ditzy blonde with big baby blue eyes?

Oh, no. Darling little Erma wants to send that girl straight to the Big House. Make her serve every single minute of her sentence. Hard line Law and Order Erma you are. I certainly wouldn’t want to have you as my judge. There you would sit at the bench, with a pink lace ruffle on your black robe, smiling sweetly. “Miss Hilton,” you would drawl, “This court finds you-all guilty of all charges, and sentences you-all to the maximum jail term allowed by law (that is la-aw, two syllables). In the future, ah trust that you-all will not be drinkin’ and drivin’ at the same time. Come before mah court again and Ah will sentence you-all to the chain gang.”

P.S., Law and Order Erma, please send the rest of that recipe, so far I have sherry, port and armagnac brandy. Think Paris Hilton drinks this dessert?