"Oh, I love to hear you talk." Suddenly, not only was I speechless, I was terribly aware of every syllable that came out of my mouth. We were visiting friends "up the road" (as they call Detroit down here) and I rarely think about my voice sounding something akin to Scarlett fussing at the Tarleton twins as the overture in GWTW quiets. We all know the line (at least most of us down here do) "Fiddle-dee-dee. War, war, war; this war talk's spoiling all the fun at every party this spring. I get so bored I could scream." (Keep in mind that is "wah, wah, wah; this wah tawlks spoilen all the fun . . .") But I digress.
Or, worse yet, was I the new Eliza Dolittle? The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain. Don't get me wrong I don't think they were making fun of me and my "southern accent". "How many syllables are there in 'hound dog'? "Do you not have r's down there?" However, I don't remember asking my
Yankee northern friends to repeat words. (But then I don't like to hear finger nails on chalk boards either, and to be fair that's New Jersey.)
Somehow, I don't think I'm getting the same respect someone from Britain gets with their elegant accent. All I ask is that I have the serenity to accept that I was born speaking this way, that they have the courage to accept that they will never speak this way, and we both have the wisdom to know the difference.