48° F Saturday, February 11, 2012

I haven’t spent a great deal of time in local beer joints, but I confess I am not totally

Ken Kesselus

Ken Kesselus

unfamiliar with such establishments. I accepted an invitation to a fundraiser benefiting a friend who had suffered a nasty industrial accident. It was held at a typical bar/cafe out in the country.

As I entered the joint, I didn’t recognize anyone, so I sat alone on a bar stool. The waitress came quickly and asked, “How’re ya doin,’ Baby?”

“OK,” I replied.

“Whaddaya need, Honey?” she asked.

“I’ll take a Miller Lite.”

“Okay, Darlin’, I’ll get that right out.”

She set the beer in front me: “Here you go, Sugar.”

I had been in the place less than a minute and a strange woman had addressed me with four separate terms of endearment. Some of my Yankee friends don’t get it. They seem offended by such remarks and think of Southerners as throw-backs in need of sensitivity training.

I don’t mind it, though, and sort of warmed up to the barmaid that day. She was kind of like the sister I never had, taking care of me in an unfamiliar place. When I hear expressions such as hers, I take it as a genuine effort to be friendly and helpful. How is that any different from some hotshot New York City waiter at an expensive restaurant bowing and calling me “Sir”?

So, I wrote some lyrics – country and western style – to make into a song for my Yankee friends to sing when they come to Texas and eat in one of our cafés. All I need is for Willie Nelson to set it to music.

Madam, I’m not from here, and

I don’t get your Southern ways.

Our restaurants are for eating.

We don’t flirt in our cafes.

I’m from way up North, you know,

and I’m used to being cussed.

Don’t call me “Darlin,” Darlin’:

just serve me up some breakfast.

Look. I am an adult now.

Yea. I am ma and pa-free.

Don’t call me “Sugar,” Sugar:

just stir it in my coffee.

How to become a Texan?

I don’t know what all it takes.

Don’t call me “Honey,” Honey:

just pour it on my hotcakes.

I don’t get all this “sweet talk,”

so I’m flyin’ home today.

Don’t call me “Baby,” Baby:

just bring my bill right away.

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