It happened again. This morning I put on my dunce cap again. It seems like that cap never gets to collect dust.
I was on the phone making a hair appointment with my hair dresser and I was clueless over the time we were agreeing upon because I just didn’t get it. Now you have to know something about my hair dresser. She’s a gem. In the sixteen years of going to her country shop, I have been overly blessed with her southern drawl, her family ties to little towns all over Texas, her colorful conversation, her lively shop where I have gleaned how to make southern dishes from her and her clients, and her explanations of Texan culture to me. She’s a real doll. But this morning I could not puts “heads and tails” to what we were talking about until I connected the dots. I was thinking Thursday. She was thinking “i’ mo-nin.” It finally dawned on me that she wanted me to come tomorrow, “in the morning.”
A few years ago I had a British friend who laughed at me frequently because she found my Pennsylvania Dutch expressions a hilarity. On the other hand, I had to mentally tie “boot” with the trunk of a car and other British expressions to keep up with her. We had fun figuring each other out. I tried to learn her British accent which put her in stitches as my attempt was pathetic. I now use my “British” accent every time I read Beatrix Potter to my little ones. They don’t laugh, because they don’t have a clue as to how bad it is. My older children roll their eyes at my Hopeglish. That’s OK. Who knows what a British rat sounds like anyway.
This morning I mentioned an encouraging comment to my older children… that yesterday a friend at church had said to me, “Well, wazn’t that just a blessin’ from the Lo’d!” in her beautiful, charming southern drawl. My children giggled and informed me that she says it a lot. They also informed me that they call it a “Maresa-ism” in honor of her charm. I smiled too because she is such a blessing to others. If only I could pull off such a melodious voice with warm fuzzies attached to it.
To console myself, I have listed below my dunce cap points, where I fail as a southern and as a Texan and as a warm fuzzie. To my dear southern friends, and my hair dresser, I love you all dearly and hope that I can catch on a little faster. Until then, please pardon me.
You know you’re a Yankee if …
* for breakfast you’d rather have potatoes than grits and you would never eat any pea that has an eye in it, no matter what color it is.
* you’ve never eaten okra, and aren’t sure it’s edible anyway.
* you wonder why people in retaurants don’t talk as loud as you do.
* you have never planned your summer vacation around a gun and knife show.
* you don’t see anything wrong with putting a sweater on a poodle and you would never put your poodle in the back of a truck.
* you don’t think overlapping sentences with another person is interrupting but it’s just the flow of conversation.
* you refer to two or more people as “you guys” instead of “y’all.”
* you prefer a bagel over a donut.
* you don’t know anyone who goes by both their first and middle names.
* you don’t know what a Piggly-Wiggly is. (For a long time I wondered if it was a new title for the song about this little pig went to market.)
* you eat fried chicken with a knife and fork.
* you use the horn in your car more than once or twice a year.
* you don’t “reckon.”
* you’re not “fixin” to do anything.
* a bag is a bag, not a sack. The only thing that is a sack is an old burlap thing that holds potatoes and you threw it away long ago. You would also never bring a sack into your house.
* you don’t know how many fish, collard greens, turnip greens, peas, beans, and so forth make up “a mess.”
* you have no idea of exactly when “by and by” is.
* you did not grow up knowing the difference between “right near” and “a right far piece.”
* “right down the road” means within eyesight distance, not 10 or 20 miles away.
* you were never taught that “fixin” can be used as a noun, a verb, or an adverb.
* you drink ice tea only in July, and it is never overly sweet. And you never get a refill.
* you wear a sweater on Labor Day.
* you wear your fur lined coat the day after Labor Day.
* your ears have only heard “yes, ma’am” said venomously so therefore it is just about equal to swearing.
* you don’t know anyone who has used a football schedule to plan their wedding date.
* you choose your parking space by the distance to the door, not by the availability of shade.
* you think a funnel is a kitchen tool, not something to chase outside.
* you don’t think everything goes better with Ranch. (For the first few years I lived in the South I was totally confused. I thought they called a wrench Ranch. “Hand me that ranch, Homer.” Thankfully, I’ve got it figured out now.)
* you don’t know that “y’all” is singular and “all y’all” is plural.
* you don’t know that “all y’all’s” is plural possessive.
* your definition of a proper greeting is recognizing the other person from several feet away.
* you wonder what a crawdad could possibly be. Is this your father who crawled under the sink to fix the plumbing?
* you wonder why the slightest prediction of snow brings the entire neighborhood to the grocery store.
* you wonder why possums sleep in the middle of the road with their feet straight up.
* it takes you five years to figure out that “Jeet?” means “Did you eat?”
* you did not learn to drive on a John Deere.
* you keep looking for a Coffee House but only find a Waffle House.
My children have often asked me if we are northern or sourthern since all of them were born in Texas. I never know quite what to say, but I read the following on a southern woman’s website …
If you do settle in the South and bear children, don’t think we will accept them as Southerners. After all, if the cat had kittens in the oven, we wouldn’t call ‘em biscuits!
This same website gave me the following advice ….
The first Southern statement to creep into a transplanted Northerner’s vocabulary is the adjective “big’ol,” as in “big’ol truck or “big’ol boy”. Most Northerners begin their Southern-influenced dialect this way. All of them are in denial about it.
And, you know, she’s right. I got off the phone with my hair dresser this morning and said, “I just made a big ol’ mistake!” The strap on the dunce cap must have been tied too tight.
