Southern.

Spotted. Southern Paradise. Throw out your flip flops, hang up your bikinis, and say goodbye to Mr. Kanye himself. This paradise moves to a different beat. Fake baked, platinum blonde city dwellers..sick of nights out on the town with men wearing your same true religion jeans..smaller size? Yearning for a Brett Farve of a man in your life? Meet Greenville, South Carolina. Where the twang is thicker than the creme on grandma's pumpkin pie, the cowboy boots make stilletos look old school, and the belt buckles turn plain Janes into Sexy Suzies. Diamonds, Pearls, Cashmere? Lame. A woman in shameless plaid is a woman that shines in the Carolinas..Don't you agree Ms. Daisy Duke Simpson? But the blue prize winner in the south is not their homemade smashed potatoes, fried okra or fresh biscuits and gravy. Its the home grown meat. "Ya'll" never sounded so hott. Wrangler jeans never looked so good. Feeling blue? He'll serenade you while sitting by a campfire. Feeling hungry? Don't worry pretty lady, in the land of milk and honey a woman never picks up the tab. Need a lift?...Right. You really think he's coming over in a beamer? No mam. A big green tractor is the Ferrari of the south. Forget the gel-wearing Ed Hardy Boy. Send him to the Jersey Shore. This b's southern men have only three concerns. Football. Football. and Women. Lets keep it that way.. So Yes. This B has found her paradise. Too bad only the G.R.I.T.S can enjoy. Time for the surfers to boot scoot and boogie on out of here. This Carolina ain't just for anyone.

XXoXo

**B