On a lazy afternoon in the South, two sophisticated women relaxed on a grand porch, their glasses of sweet tea sweating in the heat. The first woman, adorned in pearls and a pastel dress, sighed contentedly. “When our first child was born, my husband built me this magnificent home,” she said, gesturing to the sprawling estate.
Her friend, equally poised but with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes, replied smoothly, “Well, isn’t that nice?”
Encouraged, the first woman continued. “And when our second came along, he surprised me with that Cadillac out front.” Again, her friend responded with the same polite phrase. Not to be outdone, the first lady held up her wrist, where a diamond bracelet caught the light. “This was his gift for our third.”
Once more, her companion smiled and said, “Well, isn’t that nice?”
Finally, curiosity got the better of the first woman. “What did your husband give you when you had your first?”
Her friend’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Charm school.”
“Charm school?” the first lady echoed, puzzled.
“Yes,” her friend replied, taking a delicate sip of tea. “I learned to say, ‘Well, isn’t that nice?’ instead of what I really wanted to say.”
The porch erupted in laughter. Later, as the conversation turned to their children, the first woman lamented her son’s lazy wife, who did nothing while he waited on her hand and foot. “How terrible,” her friend commiserated.
But when the first woman gushed about her daughter’s doting husband—who did the exact same things—her friend simply grinned and repeated, “Well, isn’t that nice?”
A masterclass in Southern charm and sharp wit.
