How I am Learning to be Southern… Birth of the “Yanneck”

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In the South, Yankees are like hemorrhoids: a pain in the ass when we come down and always a relief when we go back up. I am what the locals refer to as your “damn Yankee”; I came down and stayed… permanently.  I am a true northerner to the core.   I still refer to “coke” as pop, refuse to “be fixin” when it comes to getting ready, and will leave the term “hankerin” for the rednecks.  I have learned that a “hose pipe” really means garden hose…. “Tennis shoes” are sneakers… and “britches” are southern for pants (and why in the hell anyone wants to keep calling them britches is beyond me, but hey, when in Rome right).  Oh, and the best part, when you want to insult someone, just add a “bless their heart” either before or after, and you are totally good!

If someone would have told me 5 years ago that I would be engaged to a good ole southern boy, I probably would have laughed my ass off…seriously.  This is one thing I never saw coming.  But, here we are… north vs south… Yankee vs Confederate… and we make it work.  The love of my life agrees to watch my Buffalo Bills every Sunday (shouting along with my loud and sometimes obnoxious family) and I agree to watch his NASCAR with him (I am secretly learning to like it, but let’s just keep that between us).  Although we have had our moments where the love of my life has seen my fiery Yankee side, stating that “I wouldn’t walk across the street to piss on him if he was on fire”… and honestly, in those moments, he’s probably right.

We have recently purchased our first home together on 5 acres… and yes… you read that correctly.  We even bought a horse!  I now own my first pair of boots for working in the yard.  I have swapped out my city ways for some peace and tranquility in the country.  Just the other day, I was helping my honey (and by helping, I mean taking him a cold drink, wearing my new boots of course) as he was working down by the fence.  One of the neighbors drove past and the love of my life waved.  He said, (in the cutest southern draw ever) “Baby, you’re in the south now, you’ve got to be friendly and wave to our neighbors”.  So now, I have adapted the “finger wave”.  And for those of you who don’t speak southern… it’s the raising of the pointer finger off the steering wheel as you pass by another local.  If you are in the truck club… finger waving is a necessity.  You see, up north, we do a different kind of finger wave, one that says “you’re number one”.

I am trying to fully embrace all that is southern.  Although starting out in small doses is probably best for me.  My youngest daughter and sister have graciously agreed to teach me all I need to know about horses.  I am not quite as far along in my love for everything horse related as they are… their  bathroom at the barn is peeing in a bucket inside the tack room.  I mean, I have peed outside before, but it usually involved lots of alcohol.  When I got home, I pleaded with the love of my life for an actual bathroom in our barn.  You can take the girl out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the girl.

I am a work in progress, a “yanneck” in the making.   I make no promises, but will give it my best shot. The one thing you won’t see is sweet tea or homemade southern cooking.  A girl does have her limits.  So, if y’all ever make it down to the deep south, come by and “sit a spell”, I’ll ask about “y’all’s mama and them”.  And hey, you never know, I just may get all “gussied up” for the occasion.

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