"Kiss My..."

Grits.


You really thought I was gonna say "ass," didn't you?

When I was a kid, I thought grits were a food from some region of a pig that you really didn't want to think about - like chitlins or something. Florence Jean Castleberry just wasn't very descriptive beyond the suggestion that smooching her grits was something less than pleasant. They're really non-existent way up north (meaning just below the Mason-Dixon line), so I had no way of knowing. Sweet tea, we got. Grits, umm, notsomuch.

I've had a right good few this year. Turns out they can be not so bad. Just not the soupy kind.

I'm still not sure why anyone would want to kiss 'em.