So we're at The Crick (see My Life Kicks Ass for the background) and Burger keeps running off. The candlemaker is across the way and he really, really wants to go in there. And Miss Katie's sideboard restaurant is right next to us. He wants to go in there even worse. And there's the long path down Crossroads that he can't resist running down. He'll be happily splashing in the water one second and then slyly look to see if Lovely Wife or I are watching. If at least one of us is occupied he trundles out of the crick and ambles toward his objective.

He gives a look over his shoulder every couple of steps to see if we're coming after him. When we do he giggles and takes off at top toddler speed, his 18 month old legs competing to keep him upright against the off kilter swinging of his little arms. Incredibly cute and just fast enough to make a parent jog to catch him. And he has a blast with the "Catch me if you can" routine.

But it started getting old. Lovely Wife has gone to the car for drinks and there were a couple other kids in the crick now. I had to actually watch the boys now. It's one thing if my own get crazy and whack each other, it's quite another when Bear plays Godzilla and scares the bejeezus out of some two year old little girl or Bacon starts Hulk jumping and lands on some tot.

Burger took off for the third time since Lovely Wife went on her errand, that's three times in under 5 minutes. Bacon and Bear were arguing about something and the spat was threatening to end in a push. My rational male mind was overloaded by the simultaneous need to handle two crises. I yelled at Bear and Bacon "Y'all knock that off!"

That's not so bad. I'm a willing user of "y'all" and its many derivatives. English has lost the plural posessive and as a lover of the language I was happy to adopt this elegant southern solution. No, my above statement is not the cause of my current self dismay. It's the one that followed.

With the Bear/Bacon problem solved I turned in Burger's direction and yelled out "Burger, git on ovah heah!"

Git on ovah heah? Unbelievable. Git on ovah heah! What the hell was that? It just came out, all natural like. I was floored. I couldn't believe I had just said that. An erudite yankee sunk into the contusive flow of southern jargon. I couldn't move. Couldn't think. I dimly recall Burger turning back and looking at me like I was some sort of alien. Fortunately Lovely Wife appeared at that point and gathered the errant child. She looked at me funny, probably because I was sitting there with my mouth open, self stunned by my own verbal bombshell. Though she hadn't heard my statement herself she sensed my distress and let me alone in my befuddled state to work out whatever my problem was.

What would be next? Maybe "How y'all doin'"? Possibly "Ain't nuthin' wrong witcher motor"? God forbid "Y'all come back now, y'heah".

Two and a half years in Atlanta and I've already been corrupted. Do I fight back? Do I make a concentrated effort to reclaim my fading grasp of scholarly diction? A concerted assault on this intrusive provincial vernacular?

Nah. T'ain't wurth th'effort.