The Birds and the Bees

Dip It in Yogurt

I stood literally tongue in cheek next to Adrian. "I can't believe someone actually decided a tribute exhibition to Sherman's March to the Sea literally in the heart of downtown Atlanta would be a good idea," I muttered out of the corner of my mouth.

Adrian smirked as he looked down at the program in his hand. "I can't believe you actually dragged me here. What exactly are we doing here again, Eugenie?"

"You're being a good boyfriend by escorting me to something that means a great deal to one of my best friends," I replied.

"Ahhhh," Adrian said as if I had just solved the mystery of all mysteries.

We stood in front of a diorama of life-size wax figures representing various personalities from the civil war, everyone ranging from generals in smart blue uniforms to ragged looking cadets in torn gray uniforms and anything in between. A pre-recorded soundtrack of battle noises complete with cannon booms, the crack of rifle shots and men shouting orders...and dying cries...reverberated around us in glorious surround sound.

"What is this continued fascination Southerners have with the civil war? Specifically costumed reenactments?" Adrian asked me in an undertone as if afraid of offending the very-much-alive uniformed and hoop skirted hosts milling around us.

I looked at him, my eyebrow arched. "You talk as if you're not one of us," I observed.

He huffed and gave me that adorable lopsided smile of his. "Well, it's only natural. I haven't lived here since my teens. I've only been back a couple years, Eugenie."

I stepped away from him and held my hands to my mouth in feigned scandalized shock. "Oh my! A Yankee in Georgia?" I cried, once more summoning Aunt Pitti Pat. "How ever did you get in?"

"I'm not a Yankee," he said rolling his eyes. "I hate that archaic term, by the way." His eyes narrowed as a bearded, potbellied man in a pristine gray Confederate uniform came strolling into view. "Please tell me he's not representing..."

I knew he was about to comment on the inauthenticity of the general's uniform, when he was interrupted by a huge mass of yellow muslin beneath an impossibly wide brimmed straw hat that came sailing up to us.

"Eugenie!" the woman under the hat exclaimed, using the very American, very Southern pronunciation of the name as she grabbed my arm, her hoop skirt swinging like a bell and knocking into my jean-clad legs. "I'm ever so glad you could make it! And who is this?" Her snapping green eyes flicked flirtatiously towards Adrian.

"Reggie, this is Adrian Falcone. Adrian, this is Regina Beaumont, my roommate from college..."

Regina let go of my arm in favor of grabbing Adrian's. "Oh, we go back much, much farther than that, darling. Why, we went to Bible school together when we were knee high to a grasshopper! Ever since then we've been thick as thieves. She's the peanut butter to my peach jam!" She gave Adrian a daring wink with her falsely elongated black eyelashes and flicked a long golden blonde ringlet over her bare shoulder.

I guess there was no mystery as to what the reference to her "peach jam" meant.

Adrian looked flustered, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning a decided pink. But I was too annoyed to find it adorable this time. "Aren't you laying it on a little thick, Reggie?" I asked, knowing she hated the boyish nickname from our childhood days.

Her response was a trilling laugh that would have given Scarlett O'Hara a run for her money. She smacked my arm playfully while she continued to cling to Adrian's elbow. "Why no, honey child! It's what they expect of us southern belles, isn't it?"

For the first time since the encounter began, I saw Regina's eyes hardened just the slightest bit as her gaze swept the room full of tourists with cameras. Her smile slipped just a little bit and then returned full power as she looked back at me and Adrian.