I'm a Masshole
I was recently getting my (second) coffee of the day when I mentioned going home for Thanksgiving.
"To Conneticut?" Patty said.
"No, to New Hampshire," Erica said.
"You're both wrong," I told them. "I'm from Massachusetts."
This is not the first time my origins have cause confusion. So, to set the record straight, I am a Masshole. Born and bred. To get really specific: South Shore. Not Southie, people. Totally different.
I think the root cause of people's inclination to assign me to different backgrounds (Midwest? Canada!) is my lack of accent. Yes, I had one. Yes, I lost it. No, I don't remember when. But, if you get me drunk, super tired, or stick me on the South Shore long enough I do tend to start slurring my "r"s and then dropping them. Because, at heart, I'm a Masshole. A wicked Masshole.