I went to NYC but unfortunately didn’t leave my accent at home…


Rico and I went to NYC for an adult getaway to celebrate the birthday of a dear friend. It was fun weekend of sight seeing, shopping and eating at restaurants where I didn’t have to cut anyone’s meat nor take anyone to the bathroom to poop.

Any meal where I don’t have to take anyone to poop is a good meal. I have pretty low expectations at this point. Really low expectations. At this point if I can eat at McDonald’s without kids it becomes a 5 star dining experience. No joke.

So anyway, we arrive in the Big Apple and get a taxi to our swanky hotel and I have to tell the Pakistani cab driver three different times our address. The man speaks marginal English and I speak expert Southernese and it becomes quite the cultural exchange. Rico starts a conversation with him (which he does with EVERYONE) about where he is from, when he came to America and if he came over in a boat. Why he asks everyone about the whole boat thing is beyond me. I think he believes immigrants are incapable of buying airline tickets and can only get here stowing away on a boat. I mean, really, even Al Qaeda can get on Expedia. We finally get to the hotel in a ride I can only describe as “life changing” as people in Pakistan apparently don’t have laws for driving and the horn honking was so frequent I developed a tic.

The woman at the desk of our nice hotel was very helpful. We couldn’t do express check-in as we had reward vouchers and were too stupid to figure out how to accomplish that on the speedy check-in computer. So Rico is explaining our situation and the first thing she asks is “Where part of the South are you visiting from?” which is code for “Do people really speak like that? I thought that was just in the movies?”.

We tell her we are from Kentucky and she immediately starts laughing and ask if we eat a lot of Bar-B-Que.


 ”Why yes we do, ma’am” and then Rico begins to tell her how often we do Bar-B-Que and at times even Bar-B-Que whole rolls of bologna infused with jalopenos.  It’s the “poor mans steak,” he says.

Lord, I was about to DIE!!

The night of my friends birthday party I had a stern talking to with Rico.

 ”Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t talk politics. Don’t talk about the economy. Don’t slap me on the butt in front of everyone.  Just don’t open your mouth. I will tell everyone you have laryngitis. Just nod when spoken to and smile a lot. O.K?” 

He promises to be on his best behavior and I feel confident that we will make it thru the evening without looking like the Clampett’s.

Dinner is at a fabulous restaurant in the West Village. We are seated in a private room with 15 of her closest friends who are from either NYC or LA. It is a warm, intimate environment and her friends are friendly and gracious.

My first feelings of apprehension are when I realize Todd and I aren’t seated together. I mean, he is close enough where I can hear what he’s saying but not close enough I can kick him under the table. Sweat starts tricking down my back.
“Please be good”,  I plead.
The night goes well for the most part. There were only a few instances where I felt like he was acting like the guy from Sling Blade. We were clearly out of our league as her friends were hedge fund managers, a Today show correspondent, very successful business owners, physicians, etc.

There were even some Louboutins in the house.


I only overheard Rico make one major guffaw when one of the guest passed around her beautiful engagement ring which was the size of a Cadbury egg and he he nudged her husband and said, “Where you get something like that? I bet it’s a CZ!!”
Swear on my kids eyes. I about died right in my chair.
On a serious note, it was a great night. Despite our differences, we were warmly welcomed by her lovely friends and by the city itself.

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