NOT SURE IF I SHOULD BE FLATTERED

I guess it's a thing that some people do, they have strange, little habits and strange, little sayings that are really only funny to them.

We have that at work. When we talk like we are from the deeeeeeep, way out in the boonies, south.

It makes us giggle to say things like, "sumbitch, that ain't right," or, "step on out there an meet Jesus," or even, "butter my backside and call me a biscuit."

I know. We're weird. This isn't new information.

We're constantly trying out out new phrases and or attempting to top one another, and I must say, I'm mightly good at my Bobby Jean impression.

Too good, apparently.

It's always odd when you throw someone new into the mix, someone not quite as up on the joke but who's a good sport and willing to play along. Someone who might actually BE from the south. Someone who is so convinced by your accent they ask where you're from originally. Someone who scoffs when you tell them you're from northeastern Ohio.

It was eventually decided that I'm half red neck, half blue blood, which means I must be purple.