I just noticed a show called “Hillbilly Hand Fishin’” actually exists! It’s on TV! Does a team of people just sit around and think, “What’s the weirdest reality show we can come up with today that includes the word fishin’? Or Hillbilly? Or both?” I want that job!
I may mock, but seriously, if it had not been the Sabbath with my children asking to watch a scripture video (which quickly turned into Phineas and Ferb), I am afraid I would have sneaked a peek. I do not like fish, I do not like fishing (everything smells like fish) or fishin’, but I have to admit I think if I had a DNA analysis done I may just find the HB gene—yep, HB for Hill Billy.
Maybe it stems from my childhood fascination with the Clampett family of Beverly Hills, or my love for red gingham, or maybe from my secret wish to one day live on a pumpkin farm in a house I’ve built by hand (so, wait, does that make me a country bumpkin instead of a hillbilly?). But I guess I long for the simple life. Sure, I may do it Eva Gabor style from Green Acres, but if it means wide open spaces, leisurely pace, and a good foot-stompin’ banjo band, then head me for the hills and call me Billy. Just keep me away from the fish.
Take me! I love red gingham and lazy rivers and green meadows with wild flowers. I don't think I'm "hilly billy" as much as white trash. I would TOTALLY have a couch on my roof or front porch if my husband would let me. And I have been known to wear fleece to WalMart at midnight on more than one occasion...
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