child of the bayou

G has decided that my weird habits are due to the fact that I’m from the mysterious Deep South. She has inexplicably labeled me as a child from the bayou, and relates any and everything I do back to my Creole heritage.
Like this past August. I was really hungry. I’d just gotten back from Panama. She was in Germany. I thought, hey, look at these meal bars. Look at these delightful Special K meal replacement bars that are G’s and that she bought for her long runs. Let me eat them, and I’ll replace them.
Except no, because only Duane Reade carries them, not grocery stores, so lo and behold when G found that her box of meal bars was empty (please, there were only two left) and she found half of one in the freezer, who was blamed? The Bayou. They were REPLACEMENT bars and I had every good intention of replacing them, just as they had done their service in snacking. They weren’t even that good.
“Sometimes, at lunch time, would they take you down to the creek and make you look for your own food?” she asked just now. “Did you disrupt the Bayou ecosystem when you ate all the meal bars?”

I replied that I was hungry and didn’t have time to go to the grocery that week. That was a lie, but I was hungry, just too lazy to go to the grocery that week. I really don’t mean to eat G’s food, it just kind of happens. I forget it’s hers.
And then, G had made a cake this past weekend. I’ll admit, I dropped the knife in it and scarred the icing, and I attempted to make up for it by planting new icing on the top of the cake. But I didn’t melt that icing so it looked like a big glob of cold icing on top of a nice cake.
“The bayou attacked the cake, didn’t it?” G called out from the kitchen.
I meekly responded yes.
About 5 minutes later, G knocked on my door. She held an icing-covered knife in her hand. “I don’t know what they taught you down in the bayou, maybe the alligators cleaned your silverware for you, but up here in New York we have to rinse the silverware before it goes in the dishwasher. This is not one of those magical dishwashers you might be used to, or the ones with little children inside that clean by hand everything that goes in there.”
I was a little frightened by the thought of little children in the dishwasher, but let it slide.
“This will never get clean. I wonder what would happen to you if you lived by yourself. You are like a bayou hurricane.”
I wonder too sometimes what would happen to me.
“Did you sometimes kill the crocodiles and eat them?”
I explained that crocodiles don’t live in Louisiana, only alligators, but that I’ve eaten alligator a number of times.
“Of course they don’t live there anymore. You probably killed them off by eating all their meal bars.”