New York Girls

New York Girls

Ever date a girl from New York? Anywhere in New York: the city, upstate–it doesn’t matter. Other than subtle differences in pronunciation, they all talk the same. They all have the famous New York accent, and they all talk at the same speed–the speed of light.

I’ve dated two gals from New York. I’m still with the second one, so I won’t talk about the first. I know my current will be reading this and I don’t want to rouse her curiosity and suffer the inevitable interrogation, huffiness when I evade answering, the silent treatment, and the ultimate penalty–withholding of the goodies. Suffice it to say, they had a lot in common, geographically speaking, coming from the same part of the country.

Now. I’m Maryland born and bred–Baltimore, to be exact. We Bawlimer folks have our own dialect as do most everyone else–Hon. We’re a laid-back people and don’t impose too much stress on ourselves by rushing around like chickens with our heads cut off. We like to take things in stride; don’t flip off other drivers, or pull out a gun for going too slow, or lay on our horns the nanosecond the light turns green. By comparison, I suppose we’re somewhere in between the high-energy folks in the north, and the “there’s no hurry, y’all” folks in the deep south. A pretty good middle ground the way I see it.

So, what’s that got to do with New York girls? Funny you should ask.

There’s something to be said for New Yorkers transplanted to the south. (Maryland is south of the Mason-Dixon, and therefore a southern state. But since the Union Army occupied it during the Civil War, southern folks tend to think of us as northerners). They–the women–tend to pick up on the local dialects. My girlfriend (chronologically #2, but she’d make me regret calling her that (the goodies), so we’ll call her #1) spent a little time in the deep south. Atlanta, I believe. BIG southern drawl, there.

She told me of a time she worked for a college and happened to be taking dictation for a letter. In the letter, there was mention of the school’s rugby team, the Hawks. Add the southern accent, and she typed it “Hocks.” She had to retype the letter.

On more than one occasion, she had to ask several times for a straw for a soda, because the folks down there just don’t know what a “strawer” is.

“Oh, you mean a straaa,” they’d correct her.

“That’s what I said,” she replied. A strawer.”

When she finally moved back north, she settled in Virginia and nobody could understand a word she said. She spoke with a hodge-podge of New York and Georgia dialects.

By the time I met her, she had settled into a relatively normal dialect that I could understand. That’s not counting the occasional New York flavor of certain words ending in “w,” that she transposed to “er,” or the occasional dropping of an “H.” Humor became “umor,” and humid became “umid (and at this writing, my spell-checker is working overtime).

There was a slight speed increase, too, but under normal conditions, I could keep up. It was kinda fun and I enjoyed the novelty of it all, until she got upset or excited about something. Oh, brother. What a challenge.

She likes to cook. She likes to watch cooking shows. She likes trying the recipes she sees, and then, she likes feeding me the results. I guess she figures if I live, she can make it for her kids.

She loves seafood. A show came on featuring some crab thing. She got very excited.

“Wouldyoulikemetomakethat? Seafoodisgoodforyou. Speedsupyourmetabolism.”

Huh… not to mention your tongue. “What?”

“I said… it’sgoodforyou. Wouldyoulikemetomakethat?”

I asked her to write it down. “Oh. Okay,” I said. "That sounds good."

“Wonderful,” she said.

That I understood, since it stood alone.

“I’llruntothestoreandgettheingredentsandmakeitforyoutonightfordinner.”

“Wha…? That’ll be great, honey.” Seems I read a short story about this once.

So, dinner was wonderful and, since I didn’t keel over twitching, she knew it was safe to feed the kids.

I’ve been with her for over two years and nothing has changed the rapid-fire way she speaks. When she gets excited, it’s all I can do to keep up with her. But, I’ve worked hard to tune my ear to her utterances. Now, I can honestly say–when that happens–I understand most of what she says. Part of the time.

It’s still new and it’s still fun and we still laugh and play because of it. And if you’ve never dated a New York girl, well, let me tell you. You just don’t know what you’re missing.