REDNECK WOMAN

In love, with or without teeth

It was June 2011, and my husband, Ty, and I had just arrived at Orange Beach for our last summer vacation without a child. I was looking forward to a week of nothing but reading, poolside relaxing and soaking my very pregnant self in the coolest body of water I could find.

We arrived at our condo early enough to catch the sunset from our balcony that evening, and I thought, “This is going to be a great week together.” We Netflixed a movie and ordered a pizza, not interested in much more than recovering from our long drive from Shreveport that day.

Our pizza arrived, and we sat down in front of the TV and began our paper plate feast when Ty let out a painful moan. I looked over to see half of Ty’s front tooth in the palm of his hand and a toothless grin. Our bags weren’t even unpacked, and we were facing a dental emergency thanks to the worn out bonding on a street hockey injury from high school.

I began Googling and online reviewing local dentists. “Looks like your best options are Doc of the Bay Dentistry or Paradise Smiles,” I said.Ty gave me a confused look. “I’m not going anywhere down here to get my tooth fixed.”I replied with equal confusion, “Well, what are you planning to do?” “Have it fixed when I get home,” the obvious answer for Ty.“But that’s seven days from now. …” I said, hoping he was still confused.“I know.” And with those two words, I realized one thing. … I married a redneck.Fortunately, along the Redneck Riviera we were in good company. I’m sure I wasn’t the only pregnant wife lounging on the beach beside her toothless husband, but these were new waters for me.In the words of Duck Commander Phil Robertson, I guess you could call me a “yuppie girl.” I like air conditioning, bubble baths, men with all their teeth.All week, I would find my husband engaging in conversation with people at the pool or restaurants and feel the need to explain that — most days —my husband has all of his teeth. That we are not normally so “rednecky.” Then reality began to wash over me like the evening’s tide. We are kind of redneck. The first meal Ty ever bought me was a bag of cheese puffs and a bologna sandwich from a gas station. My driveway is regularly patched with oil spots and mud tracks. We aerate our swimming pool with a homemade contraption my husband fashioned out of PVC. If we lived in a neighborhood with any ordinances, we would be “those” neighbors.

We are country come to town, and when we have all our teeth, I’m learning that’s not always such a bad thing. We rarely, if ever, have had to pay a service person to tend to things around our house. If the kitchen sink has a leak, my husband puts on his headlamp and gets to work.

I’ve been quoted as saying, “Ty can do anything,” and I very much believe that’s true. He can cook the perfect rack of ribs and have your car running like new all in one day.

I sometimes wonder if I’d turned my nose up at that bologna sandwich five years ago, would this be my life today? Ty knew I was a bit of a yuppie girl from the get-go, but that bologna sandwich signaled that I was up for things outside of my comfort zone. It’s been a redneck adventure ever since.

Most recently, I asked Ty to teach me how to drive a standard, so I could putter around town in our ’83 Jeep Renegade. I hated the Jeep when it first came to our home two and a half years ago, so for me to ask to learn how to drive it likely made Ty’s heart soar. His two girls finally hitting it off.

We started our lesson at Wallace Lake Dam, where after a few successful runs, Ty admitted he saw the lesson going one of two ways: 1. Smooth sailing, if I was blinded by my desire for perfectionism. 2. Total disaster, if I gave into the yuppie girl in me.

It’s good to know I can still put to rest the yuppie girl, embrace a new sense of adventure and now, as a result, drive a stick.

I’d certainly be wrong if I said my redneck adventures would one day be over. I feel my husband has visions of me backing up boat trailers, shooting guns and spending weekends at the duck camp. I’ll gladly do it all with a smile, but teeth are not up for debate.

Stephanie Jordan is a local journalist, marketer and blogger. Her blog can be found at www.stephanienetherton.blogspot.com, and she can be contacted at stephanienetjordan@gmail.com.

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