I imagine you’re wondering right now if this blog post title is a real word. Well … it is! Although I heard my Southern countrified mama say “get down off your high horse and don’t act so highfalutin” a gazillion times while I was growing up, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it written so I had to ask Siri how to spell it and whadayaknow – she nailed it!
And she even knew it meant, “an elevated opinion of oneself,” which is another way of saying my mama’s finger-wagging rebuke, “Don’t you go getting the big head now, ya hear?”
But what I want to know is when you finally DO get to act or at least feel highfalutin? Even a little? Is there an acceptable age, or remarkable achievement, or specific line that you cross that makes it okay for you to feel okay about yourself? And how will you know when you’ve finally arrived if your mama’s words in your head keep stompin’ down that fragile sliver of self-esteem that tries to raise its tentative little head like a whack-a-mole?
What made me think about all this is that in promoting my new devo, Bless Your Heart, I’ve been doing quite a few podcasts lately (if you’re interested in seeing or hearing any – some video, some audio – hop over to my professional FB page, “Debora M. Coty, author” and scroll down until you find them). Several of the lovely podcast hosts (and they are lovely in body and spirit) have said things like, “My goodness, you must be proud of all your accomplishments,” or “You’ve sold over 2 million books? Good heavens, Deb, you should be busting your buttons!”
But I’m not feeling it. The pride, I mean. Am I supposed to? Honestly, I find the gushing more embarrassing than edifying. My mama would frown, wag her finger, and highfalute me down the road. Although she’s been transferred to heaven for a while now, it’s her voice I still hear in my [big] head. So I usually try to change the subject as fast as I can. Let me tell you a funny story, Ms. Podcaster – that I can get into. 
So last week I was truly honored to be a guest on an upper-tier video podcast (Mama would call it a “la-tee-da thing”), so I put on makeup (atempting to tone down the eyebags), styled my hair, flossed my teeth, and even wore a scarf (I love scarves but I never wear them, probably because I live in Florida and they’re so hot they could melt butter). I was all done up (another of Mama’s phrases) and ready to impress.
But alas, as things usually go for me, a headcold kicked in about a half-hour before taping time, and my nose started running like a kinked up firehose. I declare I think it must’ve been Mama prodding the Good Lord to keep me humble, for several times during the broadcast, I could feel the snot accumulate on my upper lip and begin to drip down toward my mouth, which was decorated for the bright lights with my best lipstick and talking away. There was no way to gracefully wipe the nasty glistening glop off (naturally I hadn’t thought to bring over a box of tissue beforehand) and I had on short sleeves so I couldn’t even attempt a clandestine swipe.
What to do? I felt horrified. And ridiculous. And humiliated. But I still had to do something about that snot waterfall on my face. So while the host was making an excellent point about something, I desperately eye-searched my computer desk for something – ANYTHING – to use as a tissue, and could only come up with a used sticky note accidentally left behind when I cleaned off the desk pre-interview. I hastily crumpled it up and when the host was talking again, I did a quick pass with that horrible little paper wad beneath my nose. It was stiff and unyielding and completely unabsorbant as it raked my mucous-coated skin. Instead of wiping anything off, it consolodated it into one big ole sticky drool that instantly adhered itself to the paper wad and devotedly followed it away from my face to form a 6-inch arc of glistening snot string from my nose to my hand.
Oh. My. Gosh.
What little dignity I had was gone and I felt my face blaze crimson. A very shiny crimson like the glaze on a candy apple.
I most definitely was not feeling highfalutin that day. And I suspect I never will.
So what are your thoughts, dearest BFF? When will we ever have permission to ditch humility, stick out our chests, and prance on that highfalutin highway?
P.S. ATTENTION BFFs! Don’t forget to enter my Palentine’s Day Giveaway – it ends on Feb 14 (only a few days from now) and you don’t want to miss an opportunity to win this terrific prize package ($100+ value). It’s the last giveaway for a while and all you have to do to get your name in the fedora is to alert me that you’ve posted a photo of either my new book, Bless Your Heart, or its companion Box of Blessings on your fave social media. Some of you have already done that to help me get word out about these new ministry products – if you have, just reply below or shoot me an email so I can drop your name in the drawing. Hugs! I hope you win!