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.