I wish I had a southern accent.
My last client of the night was up visiting her daughter from North Carolina and I couldn’t help but envy that southern drawl. It’s like words hang suspended in the mouth for a while and – magically – no matter how unpleasant the content of the conversation is, that accent naturally implies an understood, “…but I really don’t mean it in the worst way.”
It takes all of about 15 minutes with a southerner before I start slowing down myself.
Upon arriving home tonight, however, I lost my southern accent for the howling sounds of a wolf pack. Esther and I needed to express how much we missed each other, so we carried on for a while.
Depends on the day, I guess… Or the hour.