Mark and I went out on Saturday night for a friend’s 21st birthday. We had a blast touring the Yazoo brewery and attempting to find a place where we could truly get our groove on.
At the Flying Saucer Mark struck up a conversation with a rather cute Australian guy playing pool. I didn’t pay lots of attention until Mark filled me in that the guy was from New York, and really liked Tennessee.
“You like Tennessee?” I asked the cute Australian.
“Yeah, the people are really nice. Much nicer than in New York.”
“It’s all fake. Southerners love to be fake. It’s their thing.”
I’m not even sure why I was saying this other than to be weird. Mark’s eyes were bugging out of his head, his eyes asking, “What on earth is wrong with my wife?”
“Are you being serious?” the cute Australian asked.
“No, not really. Southerners are nice. You’re right. And the Southern accent is awesome. Better than this Australian schtick you’re pulling.”
The cute Australian and the husband were now both staring at me dumbfounded.
“Oh, c’mon,” I teased. “I bet the accent isn’t even real. It just helps you get in girls’ pants. Girls can be so easy,” I said as I motioned to some cowboy hat wearing ‘Woo!’ girls at the table next to us.
The group then began a conversation about what accents were the best, and Mark whispered to me, “Oh my gosh you are so flirting with this guy!”
I was not flirting. I was bored, and I thought I’d liven the place up. Mark’s smirk told me that he understood this, but was still utterly perplexed with my out of nowhere extrovertedness.
“You would be so fun to hit on in a bar,” Mark said.
“Ohmigosh. You would never have the balls to come up to me. I’m way too pretty.”
“That’s true. It would be scary.”
“And I’m brilliant. Don’t forget brilliant.”
“Yes. I know.”
Even after 6 whole months of marriage we’re still finding things out about each other… amazing, isn’t it?