I made the mistake of telling Coco about a printer saleswoman who came to my office yesterday to "train" employees how to print things double-sided and create 11 x 17" booklets with side staples. I suppose this is not actually important, nor very interesting, except that this woman spoke exactly like any movie actress cast as "Southern Woman #2" might speak.

I mention this, because s ometimes when Coco is especially hammered, she puts on an accent. Not always discernible and certainly never predictable, Coco somehow finds a way to insert this quirk of hers into random portions of conversation.





I was in the kitchen of our new apartment fixing Coco another mint julep, as today she was clearly feeling her southern roots...





"Oh my word, sugar. I'm tellin' yew my forehead is sweatin' like a whore in church!"





I stepped into the living room and handed Coco the brass mug filled with the sweet minty beverage.





"Coco, you're sitting on top of the radiator cover. Of course you're toasty. Here, have a sip."





She bent down and lapped up the boozy drink like a normal bunny should.





"My, my Cokes, you're certainly acting like a proper bunny today!"





She lifted her paw and adjusted her newly fashioned hat. One hour prior, Coco had torn apart all of the kitchen cabinets to pick out a coffee filter for her headpiece. Though the hat turned out marvelously, I did feel it was unnecessary for her to throw the remaining filters into the toilet and flush. It took me 45 minutes to mop up the flood.





"I'm a southern belle, honey. Mama raised me right back when I was just a young chitlin. I do declare, the first beau I ever paid mind to had to court my pa for a full year before I'd give him permission to kiss my hand. You suggesting I am anything but a lady has me quite ruffled." Coco said, licking the bourbon from her upper lip.





"Coco, I didn't mean anything by it."





"I swear you've got me as heated as a baked potato-- So you watch it, now!" Coco snapped back. All the charm quickly draining from her miniature, furry (and I suppose sweaty) body.





"Ok Coco, listen, I think you are the epitome of class and charm. You display grace in everything that you do. I respect you and I love you more than I love my own life. I also think that more people should acknowledge your greatness." I figured that flooding Coco with kind words might negate her Southern sass.





I was wrong.





"You are a joke, my dear. A silly and hideous joke that I've heard before and didn't find it funny the first time. In addition to your tragic face, I suggest you stop taking garment advice from the hop-along pauper convention you clearly frequent. You are an embarrassment, and I pity you." Coco was beginning to sway from the heat from the radiator.





I grabbed her cup and scooped her up from the platform. I carried her into the kitchen and gently put her down on the cool surface of the counter. I ran a washcloth under some cold water and patted her paws.





"Here baby girl. Let's get you cooled down. I think that heat really put you in a state!"





Coco lifted her chin and slowly tilted her head to the side. She kicked the mint julep off of the counter and onto the kitchen floor, held her paw to her cheek and laughed, "You know, I do believe you are correct! There is nothing more displeasing than a toasted bun! Fetch me a sweet tea and rum, would you doll? Mama's gotta make up for lost time."





"Right away, ma'am. Right away."







