God be with you... and maybe also with you

Do you know what I hate about the South?
Of course you do. I hate the same things about the South as you do, and the list is too long, and too full of "y'alls" to repeat here. End of story.

Or is it?

See, that all is the sort of thing I'd have said up until, well, about last week. But now I have this new found love of the Great South.
Do you know what I love about the South?
No, of course you don't, and that's why we probably aren't friends. What I love about the South is their tremendous sense of Respect. They are full of it.
Sure, they don't respect minorities, or hygiene, but they do respect something more important that those things: me.
That's right. There's a southern woman at the DMV (a little hangout of mine) who has taken to calling me "Mr. Dandy." Isn't that precious? Mr. Dandy!! Not even Mr. Chesterton -- Mr. Dandy.
This is clearly a term of endearment, and of utmost respect (or "respeto," as some of you might prefer). She, like all Southerners, knows how to treat a gentleman like a gentleman. The Chesterton name is treated properly here: Southerners think of it the same way you or I might think of a piping hot piece of a pot pie. It's something you desire oh-so-much, but you know that if you were to put it in your mouth it would burn you like lava. So you Respect it. Southerners know that to let "Chesterton" pass their lips at any old time would be to sully it, and to risk second or third degree burns to the mouth.

Man, who would have thought that a land originally populated by penalized Dutch Sodomists would eventually hold such a special place in my heart.
Mr. Dandy.

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