Bo-Rocco-Bama and I traveled to Long Island yesterday (yes, two rivers, gasp!) for a BBQ hosted by some of his theater peeps.  It never ceases to amaze me just how much land mass there is on the other side of Manhattan.  Really, how is that possible?  I think there must be some blip in the time space continuum or something…I like to think of it as the  Long Island Trapezoid instead of the Bermuda Triangle.

As the day progressed, we were joined by some of our host’s family.  It seems my lack of conference calls and presentations coupled with a recent visit back home has unhindered my southern drawl – as these adorable and accommodating folks immediately pointed out with, “Yous naught from arownd deez pahrts, ah yas?”


To be fair, I might have kept my heritage under wraps a little while longer if I hadn’t led with, “I’m fixin’ to grab another beer, can I get any of ya’ll a beverage?”

I can’t help it.  After every visit home, I’m just swimmin’ in extra vowels and dropped g’s.  Damn near everyone talks that way, and it’s just so cute when they do!  For example, Rocco and I made a run to the grocery store to pick up some beer and other necessities for dinner that evening.  Rocco had scooted the cart way over to one side in the condiment aisle as I searched for pickles without artificial colors (good luck with that, by the way).  A cute southern soccer mom came barreling around the corner humming a Martina McBride song and studying her grocery list.  She looked up and screeched to a halt, narrowly avoiding a three cart pile-up in aisle forty-seven (seriously, the grocery store was gargantuan).

“Whoo, boy, I sure am sorry about that,” she drawled while fanning her face with her fingers widely splayed.  “I just need to find that tricky mayonnaise (note: she pronounced the word with no less than seven syllables) that’s hiding from me.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” Rocco responded with a matching drawl that sounded surprisingly genuine.  “Let me move this thing out of your way.”

“It’s not your fault, Honey,” she cooed in response.  “It’s the mayonnaise’s fault.”

She resumed her humming and shot off down the aisle to wrangle some Cheerios.

Seriously, does it get any cuter than that?  Viva the drawl.  Now I reckon I’ll go cook with some fatback.