I live in the south. The Deep South.
I was born in the Mid-West. And lived there 21 years.
But the south is where I call home. After all, I’ve lived here more than half my life. And I love it here. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.
I say “y’all.” I eat collards and grits – by choice. I drink Sweet Tea. (Note the capitalized letters because it IS a drink like no other. Truly the champagne of the South.) I even give directions like the locals: “Turn right where the old A&P used to be and then go all the way past the Henderson’s Farm and turn left.”
But there are some oddities I have yet to get used to.
Churches in shopping malls. The phrase “fixin’ to” do something. Possum – the other white meat.
Family Shooting Ranges.
Yep. You read right. A family friendly shooting range. Opening up just 1 mile from our house. That’s what it said on the sign: Family Indoor Shooting Range. I nearabout ran off the road when I read it.
“Happiness is a warm gun”
Nothing says family like grabbin’ the ole .38 Special and heading out to the local shooting range.
“Bang Bang Shoot Shoot”
I mean, family and shooting in the same sentence?
Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit.
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