By Emily Gatlin. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (April 28)

The ways of Southern women are shining front and center recently, thanks to the recent success of Garden & Gun guides and most notably, Reese Witherspoon’s Whiskey in a Teacup, which takes everything our mamas taught us as we rolled our eyes at her, and packages it with glossy photos of unattainable wallpaper goals in a sleek pink coffee table book. Basically.

But as a whole, Southern women aren’t biscuits and sweet tea, and we’re certainly not M’Lynn Eatenton or Mrs. Gump, although we do tip our big floppy hats to Californian Sally Field for her performances and pseudo-passable accent attempts.

No, our blood even has its own special genetic code, forged by generations of literal sweating. The oppressive humidity we, as Southern women, curse every year like we aren’t expecting it, is its own Fountain of Youth. Our dewy glow springs eternal. We are witches who do not age. And when we do, Botox and fillers seem to magically do what they are supposed to.

We’re much more complex—always nice (even when we must call on our better angels to be so), and tiptoe a tightrope between being passive aggressive and genuine. For example: A woman at the grocery store is wearing bright pink lipstick, a strapless romper and flip flops with a French pedicure. Instead of saying, “She’s tacky,” we’d say my personal go-to, “Look what she likes!” Feel free to borrow that one.

This is what bestselling author and Alabama native Helen Ellis calls “Southern Lady Code,” which is also the name of her new book. It’s a technique by which, if you don’t have something nice to say, you say something not so nice in a nice way. It’s all about phrasing with us. Think of “investment pieces” you have in your wardrobe. That’s Southern Lady Code for “The Oscar De La Renta cocktail dress hanging in the back of your closet that costs more than a Henredon bed, but you’ll wear it for decades!” Which is half true—you’ll realize you’ve been clinging to a size 4 dress that you haven’t been able to wear since 1986 and give it to your daughter when you’re downsizing at 70. (Thanks, Mom!)

“Wheelhouse” is Southern Lady Code for “comfort zone.” If a friend, and even a close one who should know better, were to ask, “Would you like to go mud riding with us at Sardis Lake?” you would say, “No, thank you. That is not really in my wheelhouse. Would you like for me to pack you a picnic basket with cold salads and fruit?”

Fresh off the heels of American Housewife, Ellis’s brilliant collection of short stories, she takes a turn here at an essay collection, explaining Southern Lady Code to the masses, as she gives glimpses of her life as a Southerner who has called New York City home for the majority of her adult life. Bless her heart, she married into it.

Her deadpan humor is razor sharp and laugh out loud funny, a rare pearl in the canon of “Southern”-themed books and essays that too often read like tea that’s been steeped too long. She’s the guest at the dinner party you really don’t want to attend, but go anyway in hopes that you’ll be seated near her. (A Southern word of advice from Ellis about dinner parties: Be the first guest to arrive and the first to leave. Sound.)

Ellis’s essay collection covers everything from manners to monograms, a man who fakes his death at her eighth grade birthday party, and when she turned herself into a dominatrix version of Donna Reed to save her marriage.

Southern Lady Code is one you’re going to buy for yourself and share the joy with every woman you know.

Emily Gatlin is the Digital Editor of the Wonderlust travel website and the author of The Unknown Hendrix and 101 Greatest American Rock Songs and the Stories Behind Them. She lives in Oxford, Miss.

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