You are looking at a certified, bonified Tennessean!! “What’s that?” you ask naively.
In order to become a certified, bonified Tennessean, you have to be initiated in one or more certain orders of accomplishment. The trick is, none of these ways are to be planned out or premeditated or deliberately pursued. “Aha!” you say, “Then the acquisition of the venerable title of ‘Tennessean’ is completely ruled by fate’s whimsical hands.” Right again! So you see why I am so proud of my new, dubious title!
First, let’s peruse the list of ways that such an honor is obtained and perhaps you can guess which one (or more) of there situations I found myself in, and thus became the proud, such-dubbed honoree:
1) Your kids don’t know whether to call your husband, “Paw” or “Uncle Paw.”
2) Your black cat has two white stripes down his back and he don’t smell too good.
3) You’re innocently enjoying a bonfire with friends, gazing up at the stars, sharing friendly conversation, and suddenly someone throws a couch on the previously peaceful fire, and everyone burst into a tearful rendition of, “From this valley they say you are going . . .”
4) You swing to hit a fly but you hit your cousin, I mean, husband, instead and all his teeth fall out, and even though he’s a tough old son-of-a-gun, he’s not quite as tough as an iron skillet.
5) Your favorite meal is ‘possum and poke salad.
6) You start saying things like “ain’t'n it,” “fixin’ to,” “give me a hollar,” “all y’alls,” and you actually understand your vernacular.
7) You decide you want to play the banjo but you can’t give up your iron skillet to make it with, so you settle for a wash-tub bass coz you can take a bath in the river.
OK, did you guess which one happened to me? (This is for real). If you guessed #6, that ain’t right. If you guess #1, you need to check your gene pool. If you guessed #4, well, that one almost happened so you get half a point. If you guessed #8, you don’t know that I much prefer to play the comb. If you guessed #3, DING DING DING!!! You are the proud winner of this contest and you win a free banjo with a few teeth marks in it!!
Yep, it’s true. I was the victim of a ritualized couch burning, replete with a good-bye serenade followed by a moment of silence as we all said our departing words of loss in our hearts, while choking on the fumes. Then we roasted potatoes on the couch fire!
And with my new title you can now call me Ethel or Smart A**. But don’t call me Bubuh. That’s my cousin, I mean, husband.
thanks to: www.crossfittriplethreat.com for image