Cheated
I’ve been cheated. I’ve never been to a farm for much more than a visit. My family doesn’t have “land.” Everything I know about cock fighting or noodling, I’ve had to read in a book or newspaper. And I certainly don’t eat squirrel brains. What were my parents thinking? Did they think I’d never get away from Kentucky long enough to figure out what they didn’t tell me?
When I tell someone that I’m from Kentucky, I brace myself for a generic hillbilly comment. Let me just tell you, I’m used to cracks like, “Oh look, and she’s even wearing shoes,” or “So your ex-husband is your brother. Hmmm, must be awkward at the holidays.” Experience has shown that usually the folks that make these comments have something to hide. They feel the need to make fun of others just so no one notices things about them. I enjoy responding to these people with something like, “Oh I’m sorry, you must be from Mississippi.”
So the next time you meet someone from Kentucky could you just try to be original. I rarely hear things like, “So, how do you cook squirrel brains?” or “How many times did your mom marry your dad?” Hey, all I’m asking is that you try to mix it up a little.