It’s easy to poke fun at foreigners or immigrants when they fail to fully grasp local customs and idioms. But sometimes we fail even at our own customs. That’s when the real razzing begins.
Crawfish are not exotic here on the edge of bayou country. I was born in Louisiana and have lived nearly my entire life somewhere along the I-10 corridor of Cajun cooking between Houston and Pensacola. So you’d think I could peel a mudbug in nothing flat.
But the honest truth is I’m slower than a Democrat with his own money when separating meat and shell. I’m slow at many things, but this one hurts my pride as a Gulf Coast Southerner.
This is not a mouth made for spicy foods either. Tabasco, cayenne, Slap Ya Mama — it makes no difference. I have an Irish tongue made for eating dirt. Black pepper is sufficient.
Do you similarly shame your family by failing to properly represent your blood, your hometown, or some other heritage while participating in sacred rituals of frivolity? Do you dance like an Englishman? Do you swing a bat like a soccer player? Are you a poor excuse for a Californian, a bad Italian, an embarrassment to Steelers fans, or an impostor of another kind?
Why not tell us so we can make fun of you too?Published in