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Dear Readers,
I have a
confession. I'm a Yankee. Matter of fact I'm Yankee Trailer Trash. It's
really not my fault, though. My Mamma was a Yankee and she married my Daddy who
was also a Yankee and together they hatched me up here in Yankee Land.
I think I was
about 6 when I first realized I was a Yankee. I tried to remedy that but the
cops kept dragging me back home to Mamma.
I'd go to church on Sundays,
get down on my knees and pray "Why, God? Why did you make me this way?" The
only answer I ever got was "My Grace is sufficient for thee." [ 2 Corinthians
12:9] Oh great! Now what? My Yankee ness isn't something I can wash off. I
tried. I even tried with that anti-bacterial soap. Didn't help. I finally
accepted my fate. My lot in life.
Dating up was tough. Try
asking a nice girl out on a date when you live with the fear that she might find
out your dark secret. I tried to hide it, but I was always found out.
Word quickly spreads in my small little town and soon there were no more nice
girls to ask out on dates. One day I even prayed to God to give me a nice
southern woman that I could love. A bible verse whacked me upside the head
like my Daddy's backhand: “Touch Not, Taste Not, Handle Not” [Colossians
2:21] . I got the message. I married a
Yankee.
So please
forgive me. As you can see, it's aint really my fault. Although I live in
Yankee Land, I gave my heart to Tennessee.
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