I'd been in England for maybe three hours before someone tried to identify with me, the lost and bumbling American.
"Where are you from?" asked the cab driver.
"Georgia," replied my wife.
"Oh, that's where Ludacris is from."
There it is. That what Georgia has given to the world: the ATL. Not that Georgia has a lot to offer, but surely Ludacris can't be our biggest export. Peanuts? Jimmy Carter? Hillbilly Golf Clubs? Larry Munson? Coca Cola? You Might Be A Redneck If... Jokes? Flannery O'Connor?
"And Li'el John?"
YEAHYAH! UH-HUH! and Little John.
I think the next time someone tells me they are from England I'm going to reply: "Really? That's where Oasis is from isn't it?...No, I've never heard of your empire. Was it big?"
I guess I should be glad that Kathryn and I weren't still claiming Mississippi, though.
"That's where lynching is from, is it?"