uffda

Today, I said "You bet!" twice in a single phone call. Involuntarily. I had officially entered the rite of my Minnesotan passage.

I've spent four years mimicking "oh you betcha" and "yah, dontcha know" with embellished exaggeration. And now fragments of these phrases have seeped into my subconscious and slipped into my daily lingo.

I joked with a co-worker about this. After sanctioning my new midwesterness with a "well, how 'bout dat!" we talked about accents, slang, dialects. He asked why I didn't have a southern accent anymore. I thought about it. I grew up down south, spent two-thirds of my life there. I didn't consciously try to lose it; my accent was never that strong to begin with, to me at least. Sure I said "y'all" without thinking twice, but I never pronounced "oil" in a single syllable.

But even my modest accent stuck out like a giant smurf when I moved abroad after college. My London flatmates would giggle at my elongated vowels. I once chided my girlfriends with "y'all behave" and they had a near seizure. I was much more aware of my accent, but that didn't stop me from asking for the mawlt vinegar.

But somewhere along the way, I must've lost the y'alls and replaced it with "cheers" and "salut." With my multilingual mates, I spoke crisply and deliberately. I had to or they would never have understood me. After a year of whipping my lazy vowels into shape, I lost my little southern drawl. I kinda miss it.

I've always liked listening to different accents, poking light at local lingo. And I suppose that after four years, I was bound to pick up a little Minnesotan slang. I just hope I don't pick up "uffda." That's when I'll know I've crossed the threshold. Yuppers, you betcha.