Next on the list of things that surprise me as a carpetbagger in the New South: parasols. Quite a few times, now, I’ve seen perfectly modern folk wandering the hexed sidewalks of Midtown with delicate paper parasols leaning against their shoulders. Not Southern belles in billowing dresses and long gloves, mind you, but t-shirted women in capri-length jeans and bug-eyed sunglasses.

Parasols. Huh. Fair enough.