How Y'all, Youse, and You guys Talk

A cool article about speech paterns\

my results (I live in New England)

I have done many different styles of writing so far in my Daily Double career, but not creative writing! So here it goes:

I swing open my front door, my backpack still on my weighing heavily on my stressed back. 

"Mom, I'm home!" I called, dumping my backpack and slipping off my sneakers. No reply. I shrug and go into the kitchen to grab an apple. I stop in the doorway when I see my mom. My mother is the type of person who will not let anybody, and she means anybody, see her when she hasn't yet spent her daily one and a half hour on her appearance. 

But right now her hair is frizzy, and her face missing the gallon of glop she usually applies on it. She's in old pajamas and an apron, and baking ingridients is strewn all over the table. She is wrestling a wooden spoon in a bowl and the kitchen smells like melted chocolate, instead of microwave dinners. 

I inch closer. "Mom?" I say tentatively. "Mom, are you okay?" 

she looks up in surprise. "Olive, honey."

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"Well, when I was just out of college, you see..."

I roll my eyes. She's off talking about her past.
 "I mean," I say patiently, talking over her babbling. "What are you doing now?"

"Why, I'm try to recreate the croissants I had in college, of course." Mom says in surprise. "And I just can't get the darn recipe right!" she bends back over and starts mixing furiously. I take her hand. 

"Just how long has this been going on?"

"Hmm...maybe 8 hours?" I sigh, I'm secretly amused. I feel like the mother here. When she wakes up tomorrow after a good nights' sleep, she'll be mortified. I lead her patiently out of the room, out of the door, and down the street where we open the door and hear the jingle of the bell of "Sarah's Bakery". 

"Two croissants, please?" I ask the pierced, tatooed lady behind the counter. She hands me two of the flaky pastries, and I pay. Mom seems to be in wonder of the whole thing. I pull back home, open the bag, hand one to her and one to me, and we dive into pure goodness. Flaky skin, warm, fruity jam bursts from inside, and I sigh is contendedness. please click. Mom seems to come back top Earth. 

"Mmmmm." she says into the brisk Autumn air. That pretty much sums it up.