We have been in our adopted state for nearly three years, but still do a lot of talking about how things are different here. Like when you’re tailgated, it’s always by this truck:
And 30% of the population wears one shirt weekly that features not a sports team, but just…the entire dang state:
Then today I was chatting with a DC area friend while driving. I asked The Child in the back if he’d like to come into the bakery or wait in the car.
This sentence involves two differences:
- Reliably open parking at the business you wish to visit. Anyone whose ever battled for a parking space at an urban Trader Joe’s can feel me here.
- Normal life. As my old friend immediately stated, “That’s so normal. Like…you don’t have to strip your car of all people and possessions to dash inside for a muffin.”
Sure, not all locals here would make the same choice. It’s something I’ve done only a few times. But we’d had a tough time staying calm and getting out of the house in the first place. So it was a big treat for the both of us having kiddo hang in the car. Even though the car wasn’t a GMC truck, and I wasn’t wearing Michigan on my person, I still felt Mitten Love.
The real end to our story is that we arrived at our destination by navigating several closed-for-construction streets, because Michigan. I parked, grabbed the kid, and sat right on his fresh berry muffin. Wounded hysteria ensued. I hung up with my friend, whom I’d just called back after procuring baked goods. My pants were not salvageable. We drove home and watched “Madagascar.”
Now THAT paragraph knows no state differences.