The worst thing to say to a Southern woman

I usually talk to my mother on Sundays, but I missed her yesterday and called just now to tell her my good news about being picked for the second round for the News and Observer columnist position.

We got to talking about my last blog entry. The wreck happened 20 years ago and we've never talked about it much. So we started talking about those fateful events.

My mama asked me to tell her what she looked like when I saw her. "You don't want to know," I replied. "I really do," she responded. "I shouldn't tell you," I said. "You have to," she implored.

"Your hair looked really bad," I admitted.