BHH

I feel somewhat bad about my last post. I do not mean to offend anyone who thinks that they're guilty of the Utah County stereotypes, but rather, it was to laugh at myself. If you don't think you fall into some stereotype, you are wrong. Give it some time, and if so, someone somewhere can fence you into a "type" of person. Rather than reject these stereotypes, I embrace them and laugh along with you. I've even found myself using more acronyms since living amongst the zoobies and Utah County Freedom Fighters. And don't think acronyms are reserved for the text message savvy and bubbly blondes. My 50ish bachelor boss uses acronyms like NOIK (no one I know), and I'm sure he's never texted a day in his life. His favorite one to use is PTL (praise the Lord). I've found my favorite acronym is BHH (bless his/her heart). I use it liberally when talking about the elderly and the insane.

For example, while in Hawaii, my mother-in-law kept assuming I was pregnant and, therefore, very tired. I reminded her I wasn't pregnant, but BHH, she couldn't remember. My Grandma McEuen, BHH, asks me every time I visit whether or not I'm pregnant. That question is pretty bold and always takes me off guard. My face likely turns red. I'm not sure men understand what it feels like to be asked that question, but for a woman, it's very offsetting. You don't know if your face is reflecting a healthy glow of "baby inside" or you look bloated and haggard. Really, most of us take it as the latter and are a touch offended. But shame on us, perhaps. Maybe asking whether or not I'm pregnant should be viewed as a positive rather than a negative. In Grandma's case, her adult-onset Alzheimer's gives her a big pass card, because even if I were pregnant, she probably wouldn't remember five minutes after I told her, so she'd likely ask me 10 more times during our 1/2 hour visit whether or not I'm pregnant, BHH.

BYH for reading.