All right, how many of you read that title in Jeff Foxworthy’s voice?  How many of you already finished the sentence?  How many of you have no idea what I’m talking about?  (Sweet Jesus in heaven, you people give me hope for our future.)

The “You might be a redneck if…” comedy act was all the rage in 1993.  It was funny the first dozen times or so but then the bloom was off the rose.  For me, anyway.  Some folks think that’s snobbery; I think the topic had a limited lifespan since it basically involves laughing at an entire group of people.  Then again, the man’s built a career out of this act so what do I know, right?

At any rate, it hit me over the weekend that the premise is worth exploring.

You might be a dog owner if:

  • you keep a lint roller in every room, under the kitchen sink, by the key bowl, and in your glove compartment.
  • you can’t understand why people own parakeets.
  • you have no problem pulling dog hair off a stranger in the store.
  • you buy clothing based on your furry friend’s color.
  • your google search history includes “how to clean up dog vomit,” “how to clean up dog poop,” “my dog just ate soap/plastic/tin foil/a Brillo pad,” “how to induce vomiting in dogs,” or “am I the reason my dog is 30% overweight?”

You might be a teacher if:

  • you have the countdown until Thanksgiving break, Winter break, and Spring break posted on your fridge.
  • your filing system includes “stuff I used four years ago and might need again,” “stuff the teacher down the hall passed me that I haven’t gone through yet,” and “stuff I’ve never used but could conceivably need if the school suddenly lost all electricity, pencils, resources, or we were trapped by a building collapse.”
  • you buy shoes based on how quickly they’ll get you to the bathroom during your 90 second pee break.
  • you spend your summer researching creative and engaging educational activities only to learn on August 3rd they’ve moved you to another grade level.
  • you spend seven hours a day speaking aloud with a running five second delay to bleep yourself as needed.

You might be parenting a teen if:

  • each morning brings delightful anticipation of which personality will enter your kitchen.
  • the first twenty minutes after they leave are spent on pins and needles, waiting to see who will call panicked because they’ve forgotten their homework/lunch/permission slip/report card, railing that their life will be ruined f-o-r-e-v-e-r if you won’t bring said item to the school for them.
  • plans change, then change again, then change three more times before you’re all “ENOUGH! I’M OUT!” at which point they’re shocked you’re so inflexible.
  • you enjoy a brief moment of gratification when your teen notices a younger kid showing their ass then realize you can’t smack them upside the head as they comment, “But I was never that bad.”
  • you have a group in the car when one comments “I smell b.o.” and then there’s a rousing round of discovering the source.

You might be hosting Thanksgiving dinner if:

  • you realize you have three days to buy all the ingredients you’ve forgotten without losing your mind at the grocery store.
  • you’re also struck by the fact that you have three days to make your house presentable, and three and a half to threaten your children and dogs with an untimely demise if they destroy it before everyone comes over.
  • you find yourself triaging house conditions – cobwebs have to go, but does the office really have to be clean? or just presentable enough to open the doors?
  • while clearing out the fridge for leftovers you find a sad lemon, two random tacos, and expired yogurt.
  • you begin to wonder if you’re secretly a hoarder because there is no way this house will ever get clean with ALL THIS CRAP EVERYWHERE.


Welcome to the end of November, my friends, when the neighbors have begun putting up Christmas decorations and I’m wondering if Gracie will attack exuberantly love on any of our guests this year.