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    Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank: And Other Words of Delicate Southern Wisdom
    Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank: And Other Words of Delicate Southern Wisdom
    Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank: And Other Words of Delicate Southern Wisdom
    Ebook218 pages3 hours

    Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank: And Other Words of Delicate Southern Wisdom

    By Celia Rivenbark

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Celia Rivenbark's essays about life in today's South are like caramel popcorn---sweet, salty, and utterly irresistible

    Celia Rivenbark is a master at summing up the South in all its glorious excesses and contradictions. In this collection of screamingly funny essays, you'll discover:
    * How to get your kid into a character breakfast at Disneyworld (or run the risk of eating chicken out of a bucket with Sneezy)
    * Secrets of Celebrity Moms (don't hate them because they're beautiful when there are so many other reasons to hate them)
    * EBay addiction and why "It ain't worth having if it ain't on eBay" (Whoa! Is that Willie Nelson's face in your grits?)
    * Why today's children's clothes make six-year-olds look like Vegas showgirls with an abundance of anger issues
    * And so much more!

    Rivenbark is an intrepid explorer and acid commentator on the land south of the Mason-Dixon line.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMacmillan Publishers
    Release dateSep 4, 2007
    ISBN9781429918817
    Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank: And Other Words of Delicate Southern Wisdom
    Author

    Celia Rivenbark

    Celia Rivenbark is the author of the award-winning bestsellers Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank; Bless Your Heart, Tramp; Belle Weather; and You Can’t Drink All Day If You Don’t Start in the Morning. We’re Just Like You, Only Prettier won a Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance (SIBA) Book Award for nonfiction and was a finalist for the James Thurber Prize for American Humor. Born and raised in Duplin County, North Carolina, Rivenbark grew up in a small house “with a red barn out back that was populated by a couple of dozen lanky and unvaccinated cats.” She started out writing for her hometown paper. She writes a weekly, nationally syndicated humor column for the Myrtle Beach Sun News. She lives in Wilmington, North Carolina.

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    Reviews for Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank

    3.5/5

    126 ratings17 reviews

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    • 3/5

      This is a good book about raising children in this century (not the how to kind)....

      It is not as funny as I hoped it would be and sometimes the author starts on a subject but gets sidetracked and then goes to the conclusion....

      I still don't understand (and I NEVER WILL) about taking a six-year old to Disney World for 5-7 days..... Just the thought of the expense for myself sends me into fits.

      Some of the highlights for me were: ****************************************QUOTES**********************************

      "Thankfully, there have been some improvements on the old Valentine system I remember from grade school, when the not-so-popular kids got five or six and everybody else got a whole bunch. It was a hateful little ritual that nobody seemed to notice was slap-your-baby cruel."

      "Why does Paris (Hilton) want kids? 'I know that kids complete your life,' she said in an interview in People magazine. 'I think having kids will make me happier than I am. Plus, I already treat my three puppies like kids!' Yes, well, as long as you have a realistic notion of motherhood. The goal of any baby should be to bring happiness to his shallow-as-a-pie-pan mother. And if you can train that baby to eat on all fours from a Five-Hundred-dollar bowl bought at a Rodeo Drive boutique and shaped like a giant bone, well, so much the better."

      "Ever since I gave birth, I've watched with a mix of horror and admiration those mommies who do it all. They work full-time, lead Scout Troops, and volunteer to host foreign exchange students. They exercise for an hour every day, shuttle their kids all over town, cook nutritious meals, and collapse every night for five hours of tortured sleep. Finally they've gone from a low hum of discontent to a full-fledged whine. And all I can say is this: It's About Damned Time. It turns out that 'Slacker Moms' like me are considered to be the ones who are truly mentally healthy---scary isn't it?"
    • 5/5
      I discovered Celia Rivenbark years ago and am absolutely tickled to find her books on Scribd! Fun, charming, and just a little snarky (yeah, right), Celia captures the warm, comforting feeling of Southern life while still pointing out all of its tiny flaws. So much fun to read, and HILARIOUS if you can imagine the line delivery in your head.
    • 5/5
      This was wonderful! I couldn’t stop laughing, it was just what I needed! Highly recommended! You’ll love it!
    • 4/5
      3rd book by Celia Rivenbark. This one she takes on a number of topics, children, husbands, sickness southern style. Some of the stories include going to a Hillary Duff concert with her daughter. The rise and fall of Krispy Kreme and Howard Johnsons. A school field trip to the zoo. How to be a slacker mom and never get picked for volunteering for PTA functions. Reality TV and celebrity talk show programs. Really much funnier than this is stating. Everything has a southern spin to it with some light ribbing to northerners thrown in here and there.
    • 5/5
      I originally found this book at this little bookstore on the Carolina coast. It looked like a good beach read but I literally could not put it down from the moment I started. I have experienced so many of the things she describes but her witty way of telling the stories is hilarious. I'm a huge fan of Celia Rivenbark and immediately go out and get her book when a new one comes out.
    • 3/5
      Just finished this one. It was okay but I didn't find it to be side-splitting. I think the publishers doomed it for me by putting a blurb that says, "Think Dave Barry with a female point of view," on the front cover. Dave Barry is my all-time favorite humorist and it's dangerous to get my expectations that high. I found Rivenbark's humor to be a pale comparison, and she even "steals" some riffs I think of as belonging to Barry, such as phrases that would be good rock band names, made-up mottos for organizations, and anagramming.Rivenbark's style is very conversational and most of her observations are pretty acerbic. She is at her best when she is relating her own experiences with motherhood or other aspects of life, and not as funny when she's commenting on the larger society.This was a quick read and fun enough, just not as good as I expected.
    • 4/5
      Pretty darn funny follow-up to "We're Just Like You...". Most will recognize someone omewhere in here, not you of course, but "friends"...slap yo mama funny...
    • 2/5
      The title was enough to grab me. And let's admit it Celia is funny, but there was just too much judgmental snark for my taste. I feel like I need a shower.
    • 4/5
      Bless your heart if you are from the South. This book is book is hilarious! Perfect for those who are Southern by birth or by transfer.
    • 2/5
      The points the author made were real and funny. Unfortunately, it felt like the book tried too hard to be funny and get a laugh. As such for me, it was very difficult to get through and lost its fun.
    • 3/5
      A collection of essays on contemporary issues like travelling to Disney, the clothing available for young girls..... told from a Southern perspective. It was OK- there were certainly some laugh out loud sections, but I felt the author rambled all over in her essays, covering many topics and sort of meandering to several that were NOT related to the first ...but it was an OK vacation read
    • 5/5
      This was so funny! I just love these books. The truth just makes you laugh so hard!!
    • 5/5
      I love love love this woman’s books her humor is so good! She just tells it like it is in the chapter for the title of this book she writes about when her daughter grows up from 4-6x to size 7-16"There must be some mistake," I said. "These are, well, slutty-looking. I'm talking clothes for a little girl in first grade.""Thats all we got.""But these look like things a hooker would wear!"She smiled sadly. "You have no idea how many times I hear that every day." I enjoy the way she sees life and agree with her on most of what she writes, I wish I could put it as well as she does! She tackles everything from celebrity moms to the anti-carb movement to bin laden. No subject is safe and Celia Rivenbark will tell it like it is no matter who get offended and I love that about her, like she say I write a humor column not a news story.If you enjoy humor (i.e. Dave Barry) or the wit and wisdom of your southern outspoken aunt this book is for you al her books are hilarious I highly recommend them when you are looking for a laugh and some light-hearted reading 4 ½ Stars
    • 5/5
      Watch out for her tongue. You might cut yourself on it. But frankly the blood loss would be worth it. Rivenbark has an arid wit that empowers her to slice and dice people, places, and events. This book, which spends a great deal of time on family relationships, is something that most people can relate to from one viewpoint or another.The Belle humorists seem to think that being Southern gives them carte blanche to judge and dissect anything at any time. I'm glad Rivenbark takes that view because it makes for a great read.
    • 4/5
      A wacky and fun romp through parenthood, relationships, and life in general. My favorites are the stories about being a mom, life with daughters, and the family stuff. Of course the Southern humor is awesome as well, and Rivenbark is really fun.
    • 3/5
      Quite funny, but not for the faint-of-heart; Miss Celia can be a bit...coarse. Of course, *that* much is obvious just by glancing at the title! But still, if you're southern by birth, or just southern at heart, you're sure to find something to laugh at in this book.
    • 3/5
      Yes, I bought this one purely for the title, but I was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be a series of humorous essays by a woman who reminds me very much of Dave Barry. I laughed out loud a couple of times, especially during the essay about obituaries. If you like Southern-fried humor and snarkiness wrapped in a few "bless her hearts", you'll get a kick out of this book.

    Book preview

    Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank - Celia Rivenbark

    Kids

    1

    There’s Always Tomorrow (land)

    "If You Really Loved Me, You’d Buy

    Me Pal Mickey"

    Studies say that children don’t remember all that much, and certainly nothing good, until they are at least six years old. So there was no way we were going to waste hundreds, perhaps millions, of dollars on a family trip to Disney World until Sophie could remember in minute detail what wonderful, generous parents we were.

    That said, the trip was finally scheduled, and we began to anticipate five days and four nights of fabulous forced family fun, fun, fun! When I told another mom of our plans at a birthday party, she beamed. Did you get the early seating at Cinderella’s Gala Feast?

    Say who?

    The Gala Feast! What about your character breakfast? Did you book Pooh at the Crystal Palace or Pluto and Goofy at Liberty Square or Donald and Mickey at Restaurantosaurus?

    Huh?

    Oh, for heaven’s sake, she huffed. Turning away from me, she summoned a few of the other moms over. She’s going to Disney and she hasn’t booked her character breakfasts yet.

    Some of them laughed so hard, they turned inside out.

    My friend Lisa whipped out her dog-eared copy of the 475-page Katie Couric-endorsed Walt Disney World with Kids, a book that I have since discovered is more valuable than a dime-store poncho for the wacky waterfall rides. (Sure, you could buy the officially sanctioned Disney poncho, for approximately twenty-six dollars, but why not pack the ninety-nine-cent version from Eckerd?)

    You must book these things ninety to a hundred and twenty days in advance, she said. Do you think that tickets to the Hoop-Dee-Doo Musical Revue just fall out of the sky?

    Hoop-Dee-Do-What?

    As it turns out, you must—and I am not making this up—call the Disney dining hotline at exactly 7:00 a.m. exactly ninety days ahead of time. At that moment, mommies across this great land are groggily poised over their phones in hopes of getting these in-demand seats.

    Why can’t I just call at nine? I moaned. I’m not really a morning person.

    Well, you can, said Lisa, "but you’ll end up eating chicken out of a bucket with Sneezy. Is that what you want? Is it?"

    I was so ashamed. Who knew?

    Thank goodness I’d had this whole conversation in time to right the wrong. I hovered over my phone exactly sixty days before our trip, just as I had been told during an exploratory call to the Disney dining folks.

    Sorry, that event is ninety days out. We have nothing left, said the chirpy Disney rep.

    No, no! You told me sixty days, not ninety!

    I’m sorry, but these things change according to season and demand. I’m afraid you’ll have to eat chicken out of a bucket with Sneezy.

    Good thing we’ve got the ponchos, I thought to myself.

    The Disney wars had been raging in my little family for two years, ever since that fateful school holiday when we were the only family that didn’t leave town.

    When I first learned that my daughter would have a week off of kindergarten because of spring break, I laughed so hard, I almost choked on my McRib. (Motto: Back but still alarmingly mediocre!)

    Spring break! I snorted. For kindergarten? Does a five-year-old honestly need a whole week off after a tough four months of learning to share?

    Was she going to demand a trip to Daytona Beach with some gal pals, a rented convertible, and a beer bong?

    What up? I asked some of the savvier moms.

    This is when you go to Disney World, they chanted in unison. Their arms shot straight out from their bodies, and they toy-soldier-marched away from me, the Clueless Mommy.

    Well, Disney World was certainly better than my mental image of tots showing up on MTV’s Spring Break Party and STD Fest screaming wooo-woooo! for no apparent reason.

    Having no idea that we were supposed to go to Disney World for spring break, I decided to salvage the situation by devising a week of fun activities. On Day One, I spent four hours assembling a child-size pottery wheel before hurling the useless gizmo across the kitchen after realizing that a part was missing. Then it was off to the park, where I was overjoyed to see a mommy and daughter we knew playing together.

    Guess we’re the only ones in town who didn’t go to Disney World, I said brightly.

    She hung her head. We’re leaving in the morning. Couldn’t get a flight out until then.

    Her tone was so serious that I had a flashback to those poor souls clinging to the helicopter skids during the fall of Saigon in 1975.

    Sophie happily recited how she’d had a fun morning of watching mommy wrestle with the pottery-wheel-that-wasn’t and screaming Taiwanese piece of shit! a lot.

    It was a Kodak moment, I tell you.

    On Day Two of our fun-filled Disney-less holiday, we decided to visit another park, one with a few more slides and swings.

    Wow! Now this is a park! I said with much more enthusiasm than I felt. I tried not to pay attention to the fact that we were the only people there outside of a few home-schooled kids who, for reasons that I’ve never understood, insist on wearing long denim skirts everywhere they go.

    Whew, I thought to myself. At first I thought the Rapture had come and we’d been overlooked, but I’m sure the homeschoolers would’ve made the cut.

    Isn’t this great, honey? I said in my best fake gush.

    "At Disney World, they have a forty-foot-tall Pongo from 101 Dalmatians and a swimming pool shaped like a grand piano and a waterslide where you spit right out of the sea serpent’s mouth!" my daughter said.

    Oh, yeah? Well, over there is a fire ant hill. What do you want? Fantasy or real life?

    I want the Seven Seas Lagoon and breakfast with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, she said.

    Not to worry. That guy sleeping on the bench over there looks a lot like Dopey.

    Of course, after a couple of years of this, we realized there was no putting off our trip to Disney any longer.

    We’d done rustic, noncommerical kinds of vacations (read: no cable) before, but I was sick of all the nature and lobsters that we found in our visits to a family cabin in Maine. I was craving total escape and plastic happiness, and no one delivers that like Disney.

    Besides, I was getting a little burned out on lobster. The last time we’d gone to Maine (state motto: The Prettiest Place on Earth for Maybe Forty-five to Sixty Days of the Year), we went during the high season for lobsters.

    Here’s a typical restaurant experience in Maine.

    ME: I’ll have the fillet wrapped in bacon, and steamed broccoli for my side dish.

    WAITRESS: I’m sorry. We’re out of that. How about some delicious Maine lobster?

    ME: Well, it is undeniably delicious, but I’ve eaten steamed lobster now three times a day for five days, and I’m fairly much over it. Do you have anything else?

    WAITRESS: Sure we do! We have lobster salad, lobster rolls, and lobster bisque.

    ME: No, no, I mean do you have any specials that don’t involve lobster?

    WAITRESS: This is Maine. Isn’t this why you come up here? All the tourists love our lobsters and our delicious Maine syrup that we sell in overpriced bottles shaped just like maple leaves.

    ME: Yes, they’re charming. Okay, how about a sandwich for my kid? Maybe some peanut butter?

    WAITRESS (excited): With lobster jelly?

    Suffice it to say, we were all ready for a change, and you couldn’t get further from the scenic beauty of Maine than Disney World, still beautiful in its own way.

    So we did it! We bought plane tickets and even opted to stay at a hotel on-site, although Disney World’s definition of on-site is rather generous. While technically still on Disney property, our, ahem, budget-priced Disney hotel was still a twenty-minute bus ride from everything.

    My husband complained that Next time, we’re going to stay at one of the places on the monorail, and I explained that they cost five hundred dollars a night compared to our nifty sixty-eight dollars a night with tub faucets that let you twist Jimmy Neutron’s head clean off if you want to. And I have always wanted to.

    Only the codgers stay in this place, I said, trying not to look wistful as we strolled across the shiny marble floors in the Grand Floridian’s lobby.

    There was no denying that boarding that bus every morning for our fourteen-hour day was getting a little old. Most of the time we managed to get seats, but this meant that the twenty or so left standing stuck their behinds in our faces. I pressed my head to the window and turned sideways, making myself flat as a flounder to avoid the dreaded face full of stranger ass.

    On our first night at Disney, we surprised Sophie with late seating for Cinderella’s Gala Feast, where you get to spend thirty-seven dollars for chicken fingers and buttered noodles shaped like Ariel the mermaid. It’s worth it because Cinderella herself strolls from table to table posing for pictures and smiling demurely.

    Thanks to a tip from a smart mommy friend of mine, I knew that Sophie would need to be dressed in full princess regalia: a poufy ice-blue Cinderella gown and coordinating glass slippers. Otherwise, we’d have been like the sad Ohio family with the screaming little girl: "Everybody else is dressed up. I HATE

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