I was talking with a friend of mine the other day who lives in another, much cooler, part of the country. I was telling her that it was close to 100 degrees and it felt like 1,000 percent humidity.

She said, “Why would anyone want to live where the weather gets that hot and humid?”

I’ve been thinking about that ever since. Here’s what I’ve got…

Porch sitting. We have it down to an art here in the south. I have fond memories of sitting in the porch swing with my Granny, just talking the hours away. We waved at anyone and everyone. Add a glass of the house wine of the South – sweet tea – and you’ve got a fine way to spend a lazy evening.

Sweet tea. As I mentioned, it’s the house wine of the South, and there’s nothing that says southern hospitality better. Pull up a chair at anyone’s house in the South, and you’ll soon be handed a glass. Good stuff.

Lightning bugs. I know, some folks call them fireflies, but those folks, bless their hearts, don’t know any better. I spent many a summer night, barefoot among the pecan (that’s PEEcan) trees catching the little suckers, and holding them in my hand, so I could see the light squeeze out between my fingers.

Our food. Nowhere else on earth will you find such tasty food. Shrimp and grits. Biscuits and gravy. Peach cobbler. Cornbread.

Big hair. We firmly believe, here in the South, the higher the hair, the closer to Jesus. And we wear it that way everywhere, sugar.

Slower pace. I’ve heard it said that people from the South move at a snail’s pace because they’re dumb. I beg to differ. We are incredibly intelligent. It’s hot down here, and we move slow to conserve energy. Besides, taking life at a slower pace, well, that’s just a better way to live.

The colloquialisms. No one says them better than a southerner. Here’s some of my favorites:

• He’s about as useful as a football bat.

• If she had a ham under both arms, she’d cry ‘cause she had no bread.

• He ran through there faster than salts through a widow woman.

• If “ifs” and “buts” were candy and nuts, we’d all have a Merry Christmas.

• He’s so skinny, it looks like he traded legs with a wasp and got cheated out of the stinger.

• He’s as dumb as a soup sandwich.

• She’s as mad as a mule chewing on bumble bees.

• I’m so slick I can stand on my head in the bathtub and stack greased BB’s with boxing gloves on.

• The room was so crowded you couldn’t cuss a cat without getting fur in your mouth.

Living in the South. Ain’t nothing like it. And if it don’t light your fire, your wood’s wet.

You may reach Angye Morrison at angye.morrison@gaflnews.com.