Stealing Buggies in Texas

I have been dwelling for the last few days in the the exotic land of Texas.   Texas was admitted the the union in 1845 but don't tell the people that live here, because they think that Texas is actually a country and that the United States is just somewhere to stash the rest of us unfortunate  nonTexans.

I've  been spending time with my three Texas grandchildren trying to teach them proper English.

 





Me:  Now Zoey, please don't say "y'all".  The proper way to address your friends is  "you guys"

Zoey:  Grandma, I think you need another nap.

Liam:  Grandma, do you want to play Pass the Pigs with me?

Me:  Now Liam, do you remember how the last time we played the score was 267 to 26 and somebody had a tantrum?

Liam:  I promise I'll let you win this time Grandma.

Another Texas icon is this grocery store

(FYI, H.E.B. does not stand for Hair Ever Bigger, in spite of the prodigious poufs on Texas Beauty Pageant contestants.  

It's short for Howard E. Butt, the founder, and no I did not make that up)

I went shopping for a few things and was almost done when I remembered I needed to look for salsa in the deli so I wouldn't lose touch with my Arizona roots.  As I headed to the checkout, I noticed to my horror that the only thing in my grocery cart that was really mine was the salsa.  Somewhere along the way I had stolen someone's grocery cart.  I looked around furtively but no one was giving me the famous squinty-eyed Texas stare.  I found my cart just where I'd left it and checked out, confessing my sin to the cheerful, slightly pimply young man in a cashier's apron.  He patted me on the head and said, "Y'all aren't from around here are ya?  I bet you need a nas nap."  And then he announced over the intercom in a conciliatory tone, "If you have misplaced your cart you will find it back by the deli."

I was so rattled I forgot to buy Whoppers