What you see above, is a double salutation, perfected by both my mother and father and horrifyingly passed on to me. I will break it down for you. The first greeting is to start the conversation, and the second one serves essentially no purpose. If I were to use the double salutation the way my mother sometimes does, I would use the second greeting as a way to start a question. For example: “Hi, heeeey, how do I turn on my computer again?” In order to perfect the double salutation, there must be almost no space between the first and second greeting. In a perfect Yorge’s- mom- style double salutation the first greeting is barely landed on before it is kicked over as the greeter jumps to the next greeting. It would look something like “hiHEEEY.”
Now that you understand the basics, it is important to understand that I do not encourage you to use the double salutation. It makes no sense, and you’re really just wasting a word. I only bring it up because I recently heard it come out of my mouth and then forgot everything I was going to say next because I realized I am becoming my parents (which is also one of my top ten fears– not because they are bad people but because this is something no one really wants- no shade meant, Mom and Dad).
The way we speak is a particularly easy thing to notice. Which is why I give no accolades to my brother- in- law, Dabidu* who points out to my horror the many isms I have adopted into my speech from my father. Such as pronouncing the word “usually” like “ewgy,” with a soft g, something I absolutely do, but repeatedly deny to self- satisfied Dabidu. I actually have no problem with Dabidu. I actually love Dabidu. He just happened to be the person to point out to me that besides my greasy hair and large calfs, I have inherited something else from my parents. I suppose it could be worse, I could have inherited say, a genetic mutation that makes me more likely to develop cancer? Nope, got that too. I got that tooooo.
But really, why do I not want to become my parents? They’re nice people. My dad has a corny sense of humor, but he HAS a sense of humour. My mom can’t work her computer and didn’t know for years (not totally convinced she knows even now) that you can open tabs within one window. But she is basically the best person to have in your corner when you’re sick. Even if that means forcing you to drink your weight in ginger tea. Why do I feel a smug sense of pride when I don’t pronounce the ‘t’ on the end of fillet, like my parents do? It’s because I am an asshole. And so are you probably (unless your parents were abusive-sorry, then they’re the assholes).
I could explore this further but basically, I always have all these complaints about my parents who have only ever done their best to love me. At least I learned from them not to get married young, to always be honest, and (from my mom specifically) to put on that Lee Ann Womack “I Hope You Dance” song even if other people make fun of you. I should also probably mention that all it took was a bout of food poisoning for me to break down in tears and beg my dad to come over and sit next to me while I vom’d it hard at the edge of my bed. My parents gave their sweat, blood, tears and sleepless nights so I could explode out of my mom and walk all over their lives and dreams, and I repay them by picking apart their parenting moments I appreciated the least over the last 23 years? Asshole. No I don’t want to be my parents. But ewgy that doesn’t completely happen anyway. So hi heeeey, I’ll settle for inheriting my dad’s large calfs (and hopefully his record collection, pls dad?) and my parent’s speech irregularities.
*Name has been changed to protect what little dignity Dabidu has left, despite his various hobbies: farting, sharting, talking about farting goals, and talking about queefing envy.