At first, I thought he was just rude. But over the following holidays, I began to see a pattern. My cousin wasn’t mean; he was precise. Where the rest of us used passive aggression ("Oh, isn't that an interesting haircut?"), Sterling used direct aggression ("That haircut is a war crime").
He is a "Yankee-type guy" in the classic sense: efficient, sarcastic, and suspicious of casseroles. He doesn’t understand why we spend four hours saying goodbye. He doesn’t understand why we put sugar in our cornbread. And he absolutely does not understand why my Uncle Bubba—a 58-year-old man—still wears cargo shorts to formal events.
“Bubba,” Sterling said last Easter, “are you planning to storm Omaha Beach after the ham? Because those pockets suggest you are.”
The table fell silent. Then, for the first time in a decade, Uncle Bubba laughed. Actually laughed. “You know what, city boy? Fair point.”
Before we go further, let’s define the terms. I grew up in a family of "pleasers." We’re Southern, through and through. We say "bless your heart" when we mean "go to hell." We never raise our voices in public. We bury resentment under casseroles. Conflict is passive, quiet, and served with sweet tea. My Only Bitchy Cousin Is a Yankee-Type Guy- The...
Liam, on the other hand, grew up outside of Boston. His father (my uncle) married a woman from Connecticut, and they raised Liam in a world of efficiency, sarcasm, and blunt-force honesty.
The "Bitchy" Checklist:
But here’s the kicker: he’s not wrong. He’s just loud about it.
| Yankee Cousin | The Rest of the Family | |------------------|----------------------------| | Direct, even blunt (“That casserole is aggressively beige.”) | Indirect, polite (“Bless your heart, you tried.”) | | Fast-paced, schedules everything | Laid-back, “whenever you get here” | | Values meritocracy & efficiency | Values loyalty & tradition | | Expresses annoyance openly | Expresses annoyance through passive-aggression | | Sees family as chosen, not obligated | Sees blood as bond, no matter what | At first, I thought he was just rude
The “bitchy” aspect comes from the cousin stating uncomfortable truths or nagging about logistics, while the family sees it as rude or ungracious.
Over the years, I’ve come to understand that Liam isn’t actually "bitchy." He’s direct. There’s a cultural chasm between how we handle discomfort. Here’s the breakdown:
| Southern Me | Yankee Cousin Liam | | --- | --- | | "I’m fine!" (I am not fine.) | "I’m annoyed, and here’s why." | | Let resentment fester for decades. | Address it, argue, move on in 20 minutes. | | Politeness over honesty. | Honesty over politeness. | | "Let’s pray about it." | "Let’s budget for a therapist." |
The first time he called me out for staying in a bad relationship, I cried. The second time, I listened. He doesn’t sugarcoat. He doesn't do the slow, Southern "well, now, honey..." lead-up. He just says, "You’re miserable. He’s mediocre. Leave." But here’s the kicker: he’s not wrong
That’s bitchy. And it’s also the best advice I ever got.
It began at my grandmother’s 80th birthday. The entire clan was gathered in her humid kitchen in Savannah, Georgia. The air was thick with the smell of fried okra and judgment. I was arranging a cheese platter (cheddar cubes and Ritz crackers, the sacred plate of the South) when Sterling walked in.
He didn’t say hello. He looked at the platter, sighed like he’d just seen a wounded animal, and said, “Is this… Cracker Barrel? Margaret, we have evolved past processed dairy, haven’t we?”
My mother gasped. My aunt clutched her pearls. I, however, felt a flicker of something unfamiliar: validation. No one had ever criticized the cheese platter before. We just accepted it, like humidity or regret. Sterling, in one bitchy sentence, had named the unspoken truth: the cheese was terrible.