Walk softly...

I have grown accustomed to the future father-in-law's accent.  So much so that I don't even notice the way he pronounces things.

Last night, for instance, he was on his "I love May-ca.  They big steaks." spiel with the gratuitous "Where's the beef?" reference thrown in to prove his knowledge of American culture.   Which, mind you, came out the year I was born.  Yes, his dad insists on referencing a piece of historical American culture to prove he's hip.  That's what parents do.

In the middle of this spiel, Hon, who's sitting next to me, mumble under his breath.  "He likes America because they have big sticks."

Which is, if you listen to him, exactly what his dad says.  "I love May-ca.  They have big sticks."

Culture collided into poor enunciation, leaving us with an image of the child President Roosevelt and Wendy might have had if Teddy was alive today to take over fastfood chains as quickly as he did countries.