Take the Girl Out of Texas

I am so embarrassed & ashamed.

I know better - really, I do. I have lived in Texas for over 30 years total & first chance I get, I forsake my heritage. Disgrace my DNA.

It all started innocently enough. This past Friday afternoon, MiniMe & I had a social engagement.

Event: Summer Party at MiniMe's little friend's house
Hostess: British Mum & Little Friend
Guests: Lots of British Mummies, 2 American Moms & loads of small children
Menu: sugar cookies, ice cream & cupcakes

MiniMe scored an invitation to this party & we got our foot in the door with the British crowd. Except for the lefthand-drive cars with Belgian tags parked out front, it was like being in England at an afternoon tea party. How cool is that?!

I was understandably mesmerized by the little kids speaking perfect Queen's English. It was so adorable, as were they. Some of their bums were happily hugged by nappies while the loo-trained crowd was sporting knickers. One little girl was pushing a baby doll in a shopping trolley around the lounge/parlor. Others were decorating bickies (short for biscuits which is British for cookies) with icing & sprinkles. They were also attacking fairy cakes (cupcakes) with the same toppings and enthusiasm. MiniMe & her little American friend included.

Of course, MiniMe has no problem fitting in with this crowd. She's been calling our yard the garden for years & straightaway is her favorite word for right now.

I was completely enjoying myself. I even ate one bickie sugar cookie that MiniMe decorated for me & inhaled not one, but two sccops of dame blanche ice cream. OK, fine there were also 2 cones involved but they were practically forced upon me. And, I didn't want to be rude. Honestly, I protested when asked if I fancied a second scoop. I even made a frowny face and patted my bum emphasizing the dire need to refuse. Apparently, my efforts were interpreted as meaning I'll just put those extra calories right here on my ass. Make that second scoop worthwhile.

While all the BritMummies were sipping on hot tea, I was kicking back diet Coke. Yes, it was diet. Someone had to do dame blanche damage control. Anyway, we got into whole US/UK language and cultural differences.

I was quizzed on my pronunciation of po-taaaah-to.

It's po-tay-to.

And to-maaaah-to.

It's to-may-to.

And, eye-ther.

Either or. Depends on what mood I'm in. Lately, I've been in an eye-ther mood.

Although we agreed there are some cultural differences, I made a valid point that they know way more about American culture because of all the images that Hollywood sends across the pond. Of course, every last image is a completely accurate representation of American life. When I'm not prissing around the garden in my carpi-tshirt-Birk ensemble at an afternoon tea party, you can find me frolicking on the Malibu beach in my fushia string binkini. With David Hasselhof in hot pursuit.

I think I was saying something about how diverse American culture really is & the word redneck came up in conversation. Specifically, it came out of my mouth.

All eyes on HausFrau. Frowny looks of puzzlement and confusion begged to hear more. What is this redneck of which you speak?

Wow. Y'All've never heard of redneck?

Oh.

Well, it's, um . . .

OK - I completely fumbled the ball. Dropped it at the 10 yeard line. Exactly, how was I to properly explain redneck to this group, pray tell? Without referencing Blue Collar Comedy, Jeff, Bill, Larry, Ron, Earl Hickey, Hank Hill, Dale Gribble or Gretchen Wilson?

Or this classic couple:


And, worse: I couldn't think of one, not one, You might be a redneck joke to save. my. life.

There's one about mowing the yard, how does that go?
What the one about grandma telling off the highway patrol?
Maybe spray paint and water towers?
Something about 5th Grade?

Uh, well, redneck means . . . uh, kind of lower class.

Yes, that's good. The Brits totally understand a rigid class system.

And, well, redneck mostly means under-educated & proud of it. And, a redneck's house trailer might cost way less than their souped-up hot-rod big-ass pick-up truck.

Oh! Oh! Oh! I know! A utter & complete lack of sophistication!

Or something like that. Straight from the lips of Mr. Foxworthy himself, so it had to be right. Right?

The frowny looks of puzzlement & confusion were quickly replaced with raised eyebrows and bulging eyeballs with lots of white showing. They didn't have to say it, I knew what they were thinking. HausFrau, the Crazy American Lady.

Thankfully, I didn't have to stick around to finish up the redneck conversation. HostessBritMum came to the rescue & begged me to show the little ones how to play Duck, Duck, Goose! Turns out that game is an American thing that BritMum learned about at VBS during Story Time (shhhh, don't tell GloryWoman, she wasn't there that day).

Here's a picture of MiniMe & me showing a few of the kids how to play Duck, Duck, Goose! I totally made amends for that whole redneck fiasco - at least as far as the Queen's subjects are concerned. The children quickly got the hang of the game & I babysat kept them actively engaged long enough for the mums to finish their tea.

As a way of apologizing to any offended family members rednecks, I promise to watch both King of the Hill & My Name is Earl this week. And, I'll cook brisket & ribs at Heather's Haus next week. Maybe we can make it a block party and get the neighbors involved in some Boot Scooting Boogie line dancing.

Fingers crossed that it will work. If not, I fear the Republic of Texas just might revoke my passport & charge me out-of-state tuition.