humble pie, southern style

My identity has taken a decided hit. I just hadn't calculated Tennessee at all. Suddenly my every northern-grown fiber resists. Nice place to visit, but live here??? I once chaperoned a group of teens to a weekend conference where one of the cooler gals decided to be my pal. One day while hanging out with her I blurted out, "hey, let's swap shoes!" Her eyes got big, she looked at me earnestly wondering if I was serious, made a quick recovery, and being cool and all, said,"hey yeah! Ok!" So right there we swapped shoes. I'm not sure who was more sorry, whether I for suggesting it or she for taking the bait, but we both had immediate regrets. I lumbered off in one direction in my new hightop redball jets, at least a size too big, while she tripped along in my delicate pointy slip-on patent leathers, dancing along and obviously feeling silly and likely cramped. I could do nothing but feel like a clownish clodhopper. In an instant we had both become highly insecure individuals having taken on footwear way outside our own ranges of Normal and Respectable. Footwear. If footwear can do this to a person, think what taking on a southern state can do to a northener! Landy came to me two hours later having braved out all she could handle. Dangling my patent leathers on the end of her fingers she didn't even ask, but demanded. "I want my shoes back." Amazingly, Landy says that that experience changed her life. She could no longer claim the humility she thought pervaded her entire being. Well I am not surprised that I'm not exactly humble, but I do hope that eating my humble southern pie might have its own lifechanging reward hidden somewhere within. If I'm honest and humble I will admit it's pretty sweet, and the crust ain't bad. Hey, y'all, keep in touch now, hear?