Minnesota Goodbye
[expression: min-uh-sohta gud-bye]
There are those who rip away Band-Aids. And there are those who nudge them off a millimeter at a time. Minnesotans are guilty of the latter when saying their awkward, interminable goodbyes. First Uncle Marty will clap his hands to his thighs and say, “Well, I guess we better get going,” and then everyone will stand from the kitchen table and hike their pants up and talk about how dang nice it was to see you and then someone will say, “Oh, Cindy? We forgot to show Marty the picture. From our bus trip to Washington D.C.” Another 15 minutes will pass and eventually Uncle Marty will make it to the front door. Maybe hugs will be exchanged, but then someone will say, “I bet you need a pop for the road? I know you like the Dr. Pepper, but would a Diet Dr. Pepper be okay?” More conversation and maybe a bathroom break. Uncle Marty will be followed to his car—his hosts will ring the vehicle, still smiling, still talking, not ready to let go.
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