Song, Song of the South

I leave tomorrow for a girl’s weekend with two of my most favorite people. To Nashville. Home of Country music, the Tennessee Titans and…country music? I’m giddy excited about the trip. I’m even fine with waking up at 4 am on a non-football Saturday to catch my 6 am flight (what I definitely would consider a red eye).

When I called our hotel this week to ask a couple of probably stupid questions, I was shocked when the woman answered and she had a very distinct southern accent. I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting (a Brooklyn one wouldn’t have made sense) but I couldn’t get over how stinking cute it was. She even called me sweetie (but why wouldn’t she? I had my phone voice rocking; the corny was flowing fast and furious.)

I guess my experience with the “south” includes Florida, a brief stint in Houston which felt much more like a beach than Texas, flying into Dallas multiple times and many trips to Arizona (not the “south”). So while I’m extremely excited to spend time with these lovely ladies, I’m excited to see if the southern stereotypes are true. I’ve been mentally preparing all week for southern accents, southern food, southern hospitality, hopefully not too many southern belles and perhaps some Southern Comfort here and there. Country music has been prevalent on my Pandora and I have my boots (okay, flip flops) packed and ready to go.