Thursday, October 09, 2014

ACCENT-uate-

I went home to Michigan last week. 

Or as everyone else in the world seems to think of the Mitten State ==> The Great White Northern Iceberg.

Let me just say, it FELT like the Great White Northern Iceberg when I was home.  41 degrees.  That is all it was while I was home.  Then I came home to Kentucky, and it's been c-c-c-c-cooooooold here too.  

It isn't my fault.  I swear it!

I so wasn't prepared for this trip in that while I was ready for it, mentally, I wasn't at all ready for it PHYSICALLY.  I think it's because of the PEP classes I taught the days leading up to the trip.  I spent so much time writing TO DO lists, Lists of Things To Bring, and the like for those classes, I was tapped out when it came to my THINGS TO PACK list.  Therefore, I left things here at home.  Important things.  Things like prescriptions.  And shampoo. And stuff like that. 

So, I had to call Rite Aid and beg for a refill a bit early.  They, thankfully, obliged, and I didn't have to have the emotional meltdown I was sure would come. 

And because we found ourselves in Battle Creek, where I knew there was an Aveda Salon (the Salon my parents go to, and the one I used to go to), I asked if they wouldn't mind stopping so I could buy some. 

It was there I had a rather interesting conversation ... the focus of this whole mess, believe it or not.

The receptionist, who may or may not have been a stylist, was chatting with another client, and I stood waiting with my giant container of Shampure (this stuff is the bomb-diggity, ladies and gentlemen! Aveda, please do not EVER phase your Shampure line out ... I will be forced to throw myself off of a high place ... like the Singing Bridge ... since the tower at my school no longer exists, having just been dismantled a mere week before school began).  FINALLY, she quit talking, and my mom had the opportunity to introduce me to the lady.  "This is my daughter, Megan.  She lives in Frankfort, KY."  

I was pleasant and said hi, and I told her it was nice meeting her.  I can't remember the next part of the conversation, but she had apparently asked me a question because I was in the midst of answering that question when, while I was TALKING, she turned to my mother and said, "I just think it's so cute that she has a little Southern accent."

Okay, people.  This is where you insert one of those old school needles scraping an old, vinyl record sounds.  I'm sorry.  What now????

It was, in fact, a week ago from this particular date, that I found myself, I was at a friend and colleague's wedding, being teased mercilessly about my Michigan, nasally accent.  Yet, there I was, listening to this woman tell me I had a southern accent.  And this wasn't the first person from Michigan to tell me that.  When I was home in May for my uncles' memorial services, I had someone else tell me, and I quote, "you are sooooooo Southern sounding."

I fear I am in some sort of accent no-man's land.  Unable to lose the Midwestern nasal twang, but powerless to stop that Kentucky drawl from creeping in.  I mean, when you live in a place for eight years, it's bound to happen.  I am just sayin' ... 



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