We'll call it a drawl

Disclaimer: If you or someone you know speaks with a Southern accent, this post is written with all the reverence and deference in the world.

Howdy.

I've always had a thing for Southern accents. Women with that backcountry twang automatically have an edge on ladies who speak with any other dialect. In fact, I am so blinded by the Southern drawl that I think Jessica Simpson sounds smart when she talks.

So it should come as no surprise that while living in the South, I have adopted a drawl. Not just a twang; a deep, Texas drawl, y'all. And for my Montana friends who aren't surprised, it's now not just when I've imbibed Kentucky's finest spirits.

In recent days I've caught myself on the phone with baseball coaches dropping "y'alls" to refer to high school teams, and "I" have become an "Ah" and even "can't" has become the dreaded "caint."

I kid you not, on the phone today I told the coach for a local team, "Ah caint white to see y'all ply on Wenzdee."

At one point in my conversation I found myself so deep in my new-found way of speaking that even I didn't know what I was saying, so I was glad I was putting the right drawn out vowels together in a manner that could be understood.

It makes me wonder if people see through it? I'm sure my editors at work wonder what the hell is wrong with the kid in the corner desk who at random times starts speaking like a character from Deliverance. But do people speaking to me for the first time on the phone know that I'm faking? Because it's definitely not a conscious thing, I just pick it up.

It happened when I was in New Orleans three years ago, and it's carried over to 2008. I should have known the South would rise again in my speech.

Oh. Aynd styte basebawl will be hap'nin all wake, so y'all cain eggspect s'moher updytes on thayat.