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This post from Rocks in My Dryer made me giggle–especially some of the comments! Please scroll down far enough to find BooMama‘s comment on the post. I will have to say I am not quite Southern enough to say “all y’all.” Usually.
My parents are from Ohio, so when I seem clueless about certain Southern sayings or doings, I blame it on being raised by Yankees. I will be the first to confess that I never tried grits, sweet tea, any kind of beans by themselves, or greens until I moved to Nashville four years ago. I’m still not keen on the beans, but bring on the rest of it! My South Carolina-raised hubby won’t even touch greens, and I adore them.
When we were little, we lived in Northern Indiana. When I was 8, my dad was transferred to Richmond, Virginia. I remember so clearly my mom trying to give us a Southern language lesson: “Y’all wanna go down to the rivah?” It took me MANY years of living in Richmond before I succumbed to saying “y’all.” It was simply a matter of pride. I was NOT Southern. But slowly, it crept up on me.
And then we moved to Nashville.
And oh, how I learned Richmond was not the South. Two weeks after moving here I started working at a daycare where I learned everyone was “fixing to” do something and you had your picture “made,” not “taken.” (I still don’t agree with that one, although Mr. V readily points out that neither actually makes sense.) I swore I would never say “fixing to.”
And I try not to. But sometimes it just happens.
Now I try to tone down my accent when I call my parents so they won’t make fun of me. It was especially bad when I worked in customer service, because the nicer I tried to be, the more Southern I got. I think it’s an effective technique. After four years here, I think I’ve developed a decent accent, although it’s not Georgia or Alabama worthy by any means. Many of my friends here still think I talk like a Yankee.
And if you ever catch me saying something is so good it makes you wanna slap your grandma, please just slap me. Hard.