Our unlikely friendship cemented in the cereal aisle of a Piggly Wiggly. We had been sent to buy ice for the cooler. Sterling, of course, insisted on inspecting every bag for freezer burn.
A local woman approached us. “Y’all are just the cutest couple!” she cooed.
Before I could correct her, Sterling turned, adjusted his tortoiseshell glasses, and said, “Ma’am, I wouldn’t date a woman who thinks ‘mayonnaise’ is a personality trait. We are cousins. And frankly, I’m the better-dressed one.”
The woman blinked. Walked away. I stood there, mortified but also—dare I say—impressed. In that single line, he had defended my honor, insulted our entire regional cuisine, and asserted his fashion superiority. That is not bitchiness. That is performance art. My Only Bitchy Cousin Is a Yankee-Type Guy- The...
Before we go further, let’s define the terms. I grew up in a family of "pleasers." We’re Southern, through and through. We say "bless your heart" when we mean "go to hell." We never raise our voices in public. We bury resentment under casseroles. Conflict is passive, quiet, and served with sweet tea.
Liam, on the other hand, grew up outside of Boston. His father (my uncle) married a woman from Connecticut, and they raised Liam in a world of efficiency, sarcasm, and blunt-force honesty.
The "Bitchy" Checklist:
But here’s the kicker: he’s not wrong. He’s just loud about it.
Let me paint you a picture. Thanksgiving dinner, 1998. A humid Georgia evening, the scent of pecan pie still clinging to the air, and the sound of college football roaring from the den. Then he walked in. Crisp, collar-popped, talking about "Masshole traffic" and asking where the real coffee was. That was the first time I met my cousin Liam. And within fifteen minutes, I had already mentally filed him under the title that would stick for twenty-six years: My only bitchy cousin is a Yankee-type guy.
For the longest time, I thought that was an insult. Now? I realize it’s the most honest, infuriating, and ultimately life-saving relationship I’ve ever had. Our unlikely friendship cemented in the cereal aisle
Most families have a blow-up fight. Ours happened via a 3,000-word email Liam sent the day after Christmas, subject line: "Observations and Hard Truths."
In it, he pointed out that my grandmother was "hoarding expired canned goods from the Clinton administration," that my uncle’s "jokes" about politics were "veiled bigotry," and that the family’s refusal to talk about mental health was "why three of us have ulcers."
The family acted like he’d set fire to the nativity scene. But my only bitchy cousin—this Yankee-type guy—had done something radical. He said the quiet part out loud. But here’s the kicker: he’s not wrong