My Accent

People outside of my inner circle would be surprised to hear what I really sound like.

People constantly marvel at my lack of stereotypical accent, but I have the accent. I just know that it is one of those things, like my red patent leather stilettos, that is best kept at home. I take great pride in my accent, but I am equally proud of my ability to shut it off when needed. My lack of accent is one of the things that I was complimented on when I interviewed first interviewed for this company and during my interview for a promotion. When at work, I opt for the well enunciated high-pitch "work voice". My friends from home all get a kick out of the "voice", but they can only take it for about 5 minutes before they ask me to please talk normal.

There are two surefire ways to pull me out of my "work voice". The first is to let me talk to someone from home. My mother and girls (ya'll know who I'm tawking about) are the best for getting me to snap out of it. I can relax around them without giving any though to what I sound like. It comes out around my sister and father because their accents are even worse than mine. I don't even try to fight the power of the accent when I am in the house. Husband is from a different part of the country and has his own accent issues going on, but since his accent is less disturbing than mine he gets is jokes in. One of our famous exchanges went like this:
Me - That is just retarded (sounds like ritawded).
Him - (Laughing)
Me - What is so funny.
Him - Nothing, its just the way you say it.
Me - Say what?
Him - Baby, you can't call someone retarded when you can't say retarded because then you sound retarded.

This was followed by an impromptu lesson on diction that highlighted my inability to drop my jaw or something like that.

The second way to bring on the accent is to make me upset. Once I am angry, I cannot stop it. My accent is on and popping hardcore to the floor and the more upset I get the more obnoxious the "aw" sounds become. The problem now is that I am always on the brink of losing it at work and therefore always just a couple words away from unleashing Jamaica Avenue on downtown Peachtree Street. I can't say that the accent and not the words are going to be the problem, but I can promise that when I reach the point where I stop caring about the way I say my words I have stopped caring about what I am saying as well. That is not going to be a good day.

Na' mean?