Every once in awhile, I wonder if I should sell my house and move closer to the beach—making it that much easier to read the Sunday Times with my feet in sand, with no sound but the sea.
That dream was inspired recently by the subject of my last blog entry, my father-in-law Jim. He did some work “for a fella” and also helped out his son. That fellow owns a beach house, like, right on the beach. In gratitude, he offered the house to my father-in-law for a couple of weeks. And, luckily, I’m in good with the old man. And, to stay that way…before arriving at the house, my daughter in I stopped at the store to grab some provisions. Fruit, nuts, Oreos….
Fast forward to check out.
Cashier #1 said: “Do you have a Stawp n Shawp cahd honey?”
(Without smirking, I said “No ma’am”)
Cashier #1 said: “You’re nawt from around heyah, are ya?”
(I said “No ma’am”)
Cashier #1 said “So then, you don’t need any of these sweep stake coupawns?”
(I said no again)
Cashier #2 overheard cahier #1 and said: “I need some. I’m out”
Cashier #1: “How many hon”
Cahier #2: “Foa” (pronounced in two syllables, just like “boa”, in, what Bette Midler might wear around her neck..named after the snake. I’m guessing.)
Cashier #1: “Four honey?”
Cashier #2: “Yes please. Foa moa.”
(I believe, I smirked)
The exchange…so typically New England brought me rushing back to my 3rd year in Eastern Massachusetts (OK..New Hampshire at that moment! Same thing) when, like so many times before, found myself asking myself in disbelief… “Where the hell am I”
It was, again, in a supermarket (the food stoa)…the dairy aisle as I recall.
And the loud-speaker announcement reminded, after some other promotional message:
“Welcome to the Hudson Maah-ket Basket. Where you get maw-faw yaw daw-lah”
True story.
Ask me sometime about the marriage of Dawn and Don. Pronounced Don and Dawn.
I don’t make this shit up.
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