A report from the office of Drawl & Y’all LLC, revealed the typical American speaks approximately 145-160 words per minute. New Yorkers tend to speak 160-180 words per minute, whereas in the Deep South, the average is around 135 words per minute.

“Maybe God made Southerners speak more slowly as a gift to the rest of the world so our lilting and melodic words can be savored and better appreciated by those who are fast talkers …” or at least that’s what cousin Rosie Belle from Robertsdale told me. She fusses at me all the time because I’m a rare breed in these parts. I am a fast talking Southerner.

To make things worse, I married another anomaly of nature — a slow talking Northerner. It’s yet another category where we have the golden opportunity to drive each other plumb crazy.

Perhaps the reason for my fast-speak was that I was the first girl born into an extended family heavily dominated by males (mainly politicians, pirates and preachers) where conversation was always loud and lively, so I learned that if I had anything to say, I needed to make it good, say it fast and get out of the way.

Mama blames my rapid communication pattern on the influence of the Yankee volunteers in the church nursery who had moved south to staff the nearby Stennis Space Center and carry out their plan of maniacally destroying the developing speech patterns of baby belles and beaus in the area.

My poor in-laws, who grew up in New Jersey and NYC (bless their hearts), already have trouble interpreting my drawl, but the rapid-fire way I deliver the message makes it even worse. I try to slow it down, but when I’m excited, I take off and it’s hard for them to decipher a thing.

“This ham’s so salty, it makes me swell up like a tick on a hog.” I say in two seconds flat. With their noses scrunched up and heads tilted to one side they ask, “Your mom’s so faulty, she sells sticks on a cog?”

I found comfort when I learned I’m not the only Southerner with a Talladega tongue. My dearly beloved Florida State University football coach, Jimbo Fisher, is famous for driving the press crazy with how fast he speaks. Reporters, and especially those who have the job of transcribing his interviews, can’t seem to keep up with his mouth. When the national press saw him put peanuts in his bottled Co-Cola, they flipped out. Jimbo tried to explain to the foreigners it was a typical Southern treat, but they didn’t get a word of it and instead reported the coach had a nutritional deficiency.

Although people complain they can’t understand me, I have to say I tend to agree with many from the Northeast (gasp) who say it’s just as hard to understand someone with a slow molasses-mouth. You tend to forget what they are talking about when it takes them 20 minutes to get to the point. The Southern accent is a thing of beauty I could listen to all day, but there are occasions when even I, have wanted to pour a strong espresso down the throat of someone and scream, “Just say it! Say it already!”

Even though my sweet husband and I have had years to practice the art of mixed-marriage conversation — and believe me, it took some practice, there are times his slow responses still throw me for a loop.

“Jeet yet?” I’ll yell from the kitchen.

“ . . . (nothing).” he says.

(Louder) “I said, didjaeat yet?”

“I heard you the first time!”

“Then why didn’t you answer me?”

“I was getting ready to answer, but I had to think about it first.”

Who on the green Earth has to stop and think about whether or not they’ve eaten anything?

Taking time to think about what we say before we speak? Why, that’s a novel idea most opinionated Southerners (and Northerners) have never considered, no matter what the tempo of their tongues may be.

Leslie Anne Harrison is a contributing writer for Gulf Coast Media and The Sumter Item. She also writes the blog - Fairhope Supply Co. - which can be found at FairhopeSupply.com.