A Cruel Joke in Texas

When this car pulled up to the rental car stand in Dallas, the first thing I noticed was not its shiny paint job or that it looked like a rapper's pimped-out ride (in a good way), or that it was a brand-new "flex-fuel" model of my beloved Suburban.  No, what I saw was the license plate, issued in New York.

"Uh," I said to the young valet, "are you kidding me? My dad's gonna laugh me out of Tyler.  Won't the rangers pull us over with New York plates?"

He smirked and shook his head.  "Ma'am, I'd like to say no..."

"But you can't?"

He shook his head again, wiped off the door with a clean rag and offered us an ice scraper.  In case it snows. Yikes.

When we got to the Fairmont in Dallas, the valet asked, "Is it cold up in New York?"

"Oh, we're not from New York," I said, explaining the rental car thing.  "I just hope we don't get pulled over on the way to Tyler."

He smiled and said, "Well, at least you've got your Texas accent, ma'am."

I squinted back at Raf and the kids, who like to poke fun at how easily I slip into a slight drawl when I'm in the South, and said, "Yes, sir, I do."