Redneck conversion complete

Any vestiges of my Yuppie upbringing have officially disappeared. I’ve been asked to turn in my Nordstrom’s card, avert my eyes when a beemer drives by, and stay up-county where I belong. We are, in a word, redneck-a-fied.

Ignore the fact that Martin considers clean cargo pants evening attire.

Or that I took the kid to a party without any shoes.

Or that I’ve got a baseball cap permanently attached to my head.

That a weekend jaunt to the dump and Tractor Supply constitutes a road trip.

That entertainment is watching the kids play naked in a pothole after a rainstorm.

That I wear spurs when I shop for groceries.

Or that we’re a two pickup family.

That people identify our house simply as “the one with the sheep.”

Shove aside all those facts. The brief exchange I had with my barefoot 3-year-old sums it up.

We were at a friend’s house when Cayden waved his hand down around his knees. With wonder he asked:

“Mom, what is this air blowing out of the wall?”

me: “That would be air conditioning.”

Okay, so our house isn’t jacked up on wheels. But we’re gittin a little close to double wide livin, y’all.

young Redneckius Americanus photographed in their natural habitat