The Numbing Process

I've started noticing signs that I'm adjusting to life in northern Minnesota. It's a worrisome prospect, but my mother has promised that if I stay up here too long she'll drug me and drag me back to New England by my hair under cover of darkness. So that's a comfort.

Signs that I've adjusted:
--When the checkout girl at the grocery store asked me what pesto was (first off, it took me thirty minutes to find it) I graciously explained instead of returning her gaze and saying "It's pesto."
--I bought shoes made out of a moose. Everybody who's anybody in town has them. They keep yer feet real warm, dontcha know.
--The other day I saw a woman walk out of the used bookstore in town carrying a shotgun in each hand. She was not carrying a purse. Had that happened in New England I would have muddied up my Sevens by crawling under the nearest car and weeping, but I didn't bat an eye.
--I hardly even notice the four hour drive to Minneapolis. If I drive four hours south from Maine I'll pass through at least four states.
--When I do go to Minneapolis, however, I'm put off by having to pay $4 for a beer, since you can get a $1 pints of beer four nights a week in town. And frequently 50 cents.
--I hang out with Republicans. Kind of by necessity, but also by choice.

Don't worry though, New England. I'm still irrationally irritated by people who sprint across the street to hold the door for me if I'm carrying something and then think that's a basis for a conversation about the weather. The only reason strangers should cross the street to talk to each other is if they're both wearing Bean boots and haven't yet gushed to each other about how awesome they are.