Wicked Muthah

I have developed a friendship with one of the maintenance guys--Clint--here, who is younger than my youngest son. He comes to work on the computer and just talk, but is here a lot. My nosy neighbor thinks there's "something going on"--how ridiculous--and every time his truck is in the driveway, she finds an excuse to come over and snoop.

So Clint and I have developed a plan that will really give her something to talk about. His co-worker, Al, will follow him over here after work, Clint will park his truck in my driveway, leave it overnight, and we'll have a tearful good-bye when Al brings him in the morning to get his truck. Meanwhile, he will be safely snoozing in his own bed, I in mine--and absolutely nothing has happened between us, as my neighbor thinks it is. Doncha think I'm wicked?

Muthah

Regional Dialogue

Every time I move, I have to learn a completely new language. In Chicago, it was waiting for an object to the preposition as in ,"Are you going with?" With whom? Nobody ever finished the sentence.

In the small town in Wisconsin, if you ordered barbecue, you got sloppy Joes. A hot dish was anything with hamburger in a casserole. A barbecue was cooking hamburgers outdoors on the grill.

Here in the UP, they know not of hot dish. Barbecue is slabs of pork ribs slowly cooked and slathered with barbecue sauce--the way it should be.

I have a friend who says, "I'll be over in a bit." Everybody seems to say "in a bit," which can be anything from 5 minutes to two hours. I told him to tell me he'd be over in a byte--a collection of bits.

In the Cincinnati area, if you said "Please?" in a telephone conversation, it substituted
for "I beg your pardon" or "What did you say?" Nobody knows "Please?" here in that context.

If you're talking to a real Yooper, his conversation will be punctuated by a "hey" after every sentence--sometimes after every other word.

Confused Muthah