There is a little BYOB (bring your own bottle) water store just over the lake bridge from my boss's house where we fill our giant water bottles for the water dispenser in the kitchen.
I know what you're going to say "So picky... WE just drink OUR water from the TAP..." And to you I say, well done, you win, here's your cookie, but I bet if you tasted the unsettling water that comes to the house from the bowels of the murky, smelly lake nearby you would join me at the water store.
The older man who runs the water store with his daughter is adorable, and sweet, and comes to get the bottles straight from your car when you pull up and then bring them back to you, full. Which is a great service when you're talking about three giant, full bottles, one opinionated 6 year old, two "let's see who can make Devyn's heart stop first" 2 1/2 year olds, and a nanny who unfortunately only possesses two hands and dwindling sanity.
Today, we had our water store errand and, since Mr Water Guy was not as busy as usual, we stood chatting by my car after he brought back our full bottles. We formally introduced ourselves to each other (where I was slightly thrown off by his name NOT actually being Mr Water Guy) and exchanged a few pleasantries while the twins watched the exchange out the open window from their carseats. (Buddy was at school).
"Where 'bouts are y'all from?" He asked kindly.
I gave him the name of our town.
"Oh! Just over the bridge," He remarked conversationally.
"HEY! Hey GUY!!" we heard from inside my car, and we both stooped over to peer through the open, backseat window. We were met by Brother's scowling face. (And when I say "scowling", I mean I'm surprised the flesh didn't melt off Mr Water Guy's unsuspecting face.)
"Yes?" He asked Brother grandfatherly.
Still scowling angrily, Brother answered loudly and defiantly, "Where do I live? I come from AMERICA!!"
The South: producing staunch patriots for... a helluva long time.
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