Today I’m sharing an e-mail I have received a couple of times, and one of two things will happen after you read this post. Either you will nod your head wisely, knowing exactly what I’m talking about, or you’ll scratch your head in confusion. At any rate, it’s springtime in Louisiana, and it doesn’t get much better than this. (Remind me of this when I’m gasping for air in August, m’kay?)
You know you were Born n’ Bred in Louisiana when…
Your sunglasses fog up when you step outside.
You reinforce your attic to store Mardi Gras beads.
You don’t look twice when you see pink flamingos in yards of nice subdivisions during Mardi Gras.
You save newspapers, not for recycling but for tablecloths at crawfish boils.
Your ancestors are buried above the ground.
You drink Community Coffee, have tried Starbucks, but don’t see what all the fuss is about.
You take a bite of five-alarm chili and reach for the Tabasco.
Every once in a while, you have waterfront property.
You sit down to eat boiled crawfish and your host says, Don’t eat the dead ones, and you know what he means.
[For the uninformed: If a crawfish was dead before it was boiled, it may be spoiled and should not be eaten. You may say, “But aren’t they all dead after they are boiled!” Yes! But the ones that were alive when boiled will have their tails curled. However, the ones that were dead before they were boiled will have straight tails and should be avoided.]
You don’t learn until high school that Mardi Gras is not a national holiday.
You push little old ladies out of the way to catch Mardi Gras beads.
Little old ladies push YOU out of the way to catch Mardi Gras beads.
You believe that purple, green and gold look good together.
Your last name isn’t pronounced the way it’s spelled.
In Baton Rouge, you know where the traffic circle used to be.
You know what a nutria is but you still pick it to represent your baseball team.
No matter where else you go in the world, you are always disappointed in the food.
Your town is low on the education chart, high on the obesity chart and you don’t care because you’re No. 1 on the party chart.
Your house payment is less than your utility bill.
In Baton Rouge, you know why East Airport Drive is called that, even though there is no airport for miles.
You know that Tchoupitoulas is a street and not a disease.
Your grandparents are called “Maw-Maw” and “Paw-Paw.”
Your Santa Claus rides an alligator and your favorite Saint is a football player.
You cringe every time you hear an actor with a Southern or Cajun accent in a “New Orleans-based” movie or TV show.
You have to reset your clocks after every thunderstorm.
You’re walking in the French Quarter with a plastic cup of beer.
When it starts to rain, you cover your beer instead of your head.
You’ve eaten at one or more of these restaurants, AND know how to pronounce their names: Tu Jac’s, Gallatoire’s, Ralph & Kacoo’s, Brunet’s or Mulatte’s.
You eat dinner out and spend the entire meal talking about all the other good places you’ve eaten.
You call home just to find out what your momma’nem are having for supper tonight.
You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Louisiana.
Or, in this case, you utilize my comments section to tell me something specific to your area.
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