Farmwife Confession: I’m the Off Girl
Until December 23, 2010, I was a city girl. I had daily lattes, shopped a little too often, relied on public transportation, and rejected the thought of ever living in the country. When my husband and I decided to leave it all for West Texas to farm, life changed completely. Read my “Farmwife Confessions” to learn about the transition.
My grandma, from West Virginia, met, fell in love, and married my grandpa (from central Texas) during WWII. They had dates at the Leaning Tower of Pisa and the Eiffel Tower. They married when they returned to New York, and then went to Texas to make their lives.
To those in my grandpa’s hometown, my grandma was a Yankee outsider – an “Off Girl.”
Since moving to Farwell, everyone has been so nice and welcoming. It has helped Russell and I settle in and get on with our lives.
But, on Friday, I felt like an off girl.
I went to the local grocery store to get milk, tortillas, and a bell pepper (life’s necessities). It was my first time to go into the store and my first time to drive there solo.
I went the only way I knew to get to town, even though it wasn’t the fastest way to get there, and luckily found the store without having to ask anyone.
I go in and gather my items. The vegetable selection was lacking and there was no skim milk:
But, the meat and soda selection is top notch. Such is life in West Texas.
As I go to check out, the cashier asks me if I found everything okay. I reply, “Um… yeah, I did. Thanks.” And then this exchanged happened with the bagger, who was about 6’3, with a grizzly beard, and I think some missing teeth.
Bagger: “Whut, arre ya? Cun-try?”
Me: “Excuse me? Am I a country?”
Bagger: “Yeah, ya said, ‘Um yeah.’ Whut arre ya, a hick?” (I guess hick and valley girl accents sound the same to some.)
Me, with a puzzled look: “Obviously…”
And then he insisted on carrying my three items to my car, even though I insisted that I could handle the nine pounds worth of groceries on my own.
As I left the parking lot, I was flustered. I entered the house address into the GPS so I could learn the other way to get home, and pulled onto the highway when the GPS lady told me to “please proceed to the indicated route.” But, I forgot to pay attention and drove off the curb.
So there I was, a hick valley girl, having to GPS which dirt road to take to get home, driving off curbs in my car with DC plates. And that’s when it was official: I’m the off girl.