Last week I took a quick business trip below the Mason-Dixon Line. One way that I know I am “down south” is when the woman behind the McDonald’s counter asks me “Hey sugar, whad y’all like this mornin’?” and then follows it up with “How about some grits with that breakfast burrito?” (No thanks … just coffee.)
One way I could not tell was by the temperature. When I left Minnesota, it was 40°, a truly balmy February temperature in the North Star State. When I landed in Atlanta-gol-durn-GEORGIA … it was 36°, and even a math-impaired editor could figure out that it was four degrees colder than where I’d come from. Some things just aren’t right.
Now I hate to sound like a whiner (OK, too late for that), but when we solar-deprived Yankees head south, we really don’t expect it to be colder. Thankfully, Southern hospitality provided all the warmth I needed … although I do need to look into the vernacular of “Bless your face” … which seemed like a compliment at the time; but anyway… I do love the South and Southern culture, but next time I’ll bring my jacket.
Sincerely,
– Rob Johnstone, Woodworker’s Journal
