As I watched my husband walk around with his CATerpillar cap, his dirty old boots and camo pants, I began to wonder...how does someone actually earn the title "Redneck". Living in the country, it's an elite club that we have only borderline qualities as our qualifications to join. I felt a strong need to step over that fine line of being country, to being redneck.
I've changed my shirt in public at a football game with only a tank top protecting my flesh but you know, when in Rome...
I've shouted double negatives in public on accident and no one even noticed...
My idea of appetizers for parties is Chex mix and salted peanuts, but still something was holding us back from that real label we both desired...REDNECK.
I thought as we both crammed muscadines into our mouths as if they were the absolutes best thing on Earth...which we all know they are...I think I've got it...and I spoke
"Hey!" as we tend to call people, animals, anything alive instead of using proper salutations others may use outside of the rural plantations. Hey is actually polite here. "Wanna see who can spit their seed the farthest?" He looked me up and down
I rolled the seed up to the front of my tongue as we now stood side by side and shot it with every ounce of power I had. He chuckled at my five feet shot and threatened me with a squint of the eye. He rolled the seed around several times in his mouth until he found the proper launching spot. He glanced one last time as if to say, this is how it's done. I watched as his cheeks sunk in as he breathed deep and he blew. The seed when high and far and when it landed, I was defeated. A man's competition. But I won after all, I had just been inducted into the Redneck Hall of Fame. Such a proud day for the Blakelys.