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Can we talk about northerner politeness for a moment? It's like they have a PhD in being polite, but it's a whole different kind of polite. Down south, we say "bless your heart" with a smile, and you know someone just messed up. Up north, they say "sorry" for everything, and I mean everything. You accidentally bump into a northerner, and before you can say anything, they're already apologizing. It's like a reflex. I bumped into a guy, and he goes, "Sorry, eh." I'm thinking, "Dude, I should be the one saying sorry; I practically tackled you!"
But it's not just the apologies; it's the tone. They could be mad as a wet cat, but they'll still say sorry like they're handing you a gift. "I'm sorry you're an idiot." It's so polite that it's almost passive-aggressive. I'm starting to think they teach "Sorry 101" in Canadian schools.
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Let's talk about the weather, shall we? Specifically, northern weather conversations. Down south, we have three seasons: hot, hotter, and mosquito-infested. But up north, it's a different ball game. I asked my northern friend how they deal with the cold, and he said, "Layers, lots of layers." Layers? Are we talking about winter fashion or preparing for an Arctic expedition? I imagine them getting ready for a casual stroll with thermal underwear, three sweaters, and a parka. If I wore that many layers in the south, I'd need an ambulance on standby for heatstroke.
And the way they talk about snow! "We had a light dusting last night." Light dusting? In the south, a snowflake hits the ground, and schools shut down. Up north, it's just a light dusting, and they continue with their day, snowshoes and all.
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You ever notice how mysterious northerners are? I mean, I'm from the south, and when we have a problem, we talk about it. We'll sit on the porch, sip some sweet tea, and dissect every detail. But northerners? It's like trying to unravel a conspiracy theory. I asked my northern friend about his day, and he responded with, "It was fine." Fine? What does that even mean? Down south, "fine" means your grandma's peach cobbler was just okay. Up north, it's a description of their entire day.
I tried to dig deeper, asking, "What did you do?" He looked at me like I was asking for the nuclear launch codes. "Stuff," he said. Stuff? Come on! I need details! Did you battle a moose? Wrestle a bear? What kind of stuff are we talking about?
It's like they have a secret society up there, and they're sworn to never reveal the thrilling details of their day. I bet if I asked him what he had for lunch, he'd say, "Edible stuff." Edible stuff? Is that code for poutine and maple syrup? It's like trying to crack a code just to have a casual conversation.
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Can we address northerner food choices? I thought I knew about comfort food until I ventured up north. Down south, we have biscuits and gravy, fried chicken, and sweet tea. But up north, they have a love affair with poutine and ketchup-flavored chips. Poutine is basically a heart attack on a plate. Gravy, cheese curds, and fries—what culinary genius thought of this combination? It's like they looked at fries and said, "You know what would make this better? Gravy and squeaky cheese."
And don't get me started on ketchup-flavored chips. I thought ketchup was a condiment, not a chip flavor. Up north, they're probably having debates about which brand has the most authentic ketchup flavor. "Oh, this one really captures the essence of tomatoes and vinegar."
I just can't wrap my head around it. I'm from the south, where we fry everything, and they're up there turning condiments into snacks. It's a culinary culture shock, and my taste buds are still recovering.
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