Move Up North

I’m fixing to move up north.
When I told that to my momma, she took me to two tent revivals, gave me a big dose of sausage gravy and told me to let’s talk about it in the morning.

Well, I woke up the next morning with a clear head and discovered Doctor Mom’s treatment had diminished my desire to move up north somewhat, but there was still a spark there. I think it was from watching too many episodes of certain shows on TV.

Consequently, the tent revivals and sausage gravy was just the first phase of my momma’s treatment. They were followed by gallons of sweet tea and stacks of tomato sandwiches, pineapple sandwiches, and banana sandwiches along with lectures about how many of those I thought I would get up in New York City.

I presented one last weak attempt when I mentioned the literature, the art, the gourmet restaurants, and the exposure to the many varied and different cultures they had up in the Big Apple.

That just made my momma mad. As far as the literature and art were concerned, she reminded me of “To Kill A Mockingbird” and “Gone With The Wind.”

Then she produced my family tree, which included cultures from Scotland and Ireland in Europe, and Creek Indian from America.

But what really got me, the coupe de grace, the thing that finally made me forget any northern notions was when she addressed the gourmet part of my argument.

When she put that pimento cheese sandwich in front of me, I capitulated and knew I would never ever be fixing to consider moving up north again.