In honeymoon/vacation-type fashion, Bo and I are taking a trip this summer. An entire two weeks of road traveling, eating fast quick food, and experiencing new things. Or rather, me experiencing the things that he knew for the first decades of his life. Like fresh fish and coastal living, calling shopping carts “buggies” and coozies “huggies.” And other things that don’t exist in Kansas. Alligators. The choice of whether tea comes in sweet or regular. Crawfish – not crawdads. And all the fresh seafood one could ever think of eating.
That’s what’s on our agenda.
But what if I come back with an accent? Or develop diabetes after a single sip of that ultra-sugared tea? Or call things all of the wrong words until no one knows what I’m talking about? My Yankee ways will confuse everyone, even when they are smart and helpful. Like washing dirty hats in the dishwasher or knowing what dust ruffles are called and what they’re for. But seriously, WHAT IF I COME BACK WITH AN ACCENT?
It’s much harder to get rid of those things than it is to develop such a drawl. My Great Grandma even told me so, and seeing as she’s in her mid-80s and wiser than ever, nothing she says is wrong. Never. She also taught me to eat homegrown tomatoes on toast, the world’s best breakfast – proof enough for always being right.
I’m also concerned about melting. My MIL has informed me it will be “walk around naked hot” when we arrive. And though heat is nothing new to this old Kansan, the South has humidity like you wouldn’t believe. Sweat will probably be pouring out of my skin. Liquefied heat radiating through my whole body, like I’m turning completely into water, one miserable droplet at a time.
And what about eating? What if it’s weird and I hate it or love it and then hate Kansas for ruining my entire life? Not serving such delicious dishes or my entire life? I’ve already fallen in love with Chick-fil-A, and broken my Church’s Chicken virginity. I’ve never had grits and don’t even understand what they are – oatmeal-ish? Rice-like? Where do these things come from and why does no one eat them up north?
Other Issues We Might Encounter
- If not actual puking, being “sick” of the car after driving so many hours at a time.
- Neighbors who don’t water my tomatoes. I mean, we did just move in … how much can I really trust them? And vice versa. They might think I’m growing tomato-looking bombs.
- Bo constantly making fun of me from my excitement and/or fears. Like the time he told me I was “such a woman” from refusing to shower during a lightening storm. Or how I carry jumper cables in my trunk but have to Google which color goes where. Every single time. Or when I asked what the Mason Dixon line was and it was like I’d said called him the equivalent to the South’s “C-word”.
- Are there certain shots I need? How many venomous snakes reside in every state below? And how do I know how to look out for them when there’s more than two? (A handy little number they stick to in KS.)
- Multiple old lady jokes – on account of my love for knitting (and my cat) and the fact that I’m 57 months older than my husband. A number that, for three months out of the year, does not mark me as a cougar, he says.
- Being offensive on accident from not knowing when to say sir and ma’am. Like using the formal words in Spanish, but not in Spanish.
- What if no one has unsweet tea? I’m going to have to carry my own bags, along with a sugar-free jug, at all times. ALL TIMES.
Are there more (potential) issues with marrying a Southerner? Probably. We will tackle them as they come – best of luck to us, especially him, ya hear?