Here's my worst guess story.
I had been in Portland about six months, and I went to a GMC store to buy some vitamins. The bloke manning the shop was pretty chatty, but I was being a bit defensive so I suppose I was shutting down more conversational avenues than I should. Besides, I wanted to actually look at what was on the shelves rather than talk to some twit in a bad jumper.
In triumph I held up a jar of pills and said "This'll do, I reckon," with my best Yorkshire vowels.
After I handed the bloke my money he said: "I'm usually pretty good with accents, but I can't place yours. Tell me, which part of Texas are you from?"
He was more than a little nonplussed when I told he was only out by about five thousand miles.
I still regret not telling him that I was from Yorkshire, the Texas of the north, but l'esprit d'escalier often visits.
Is this a dagger I see before me? What daft bugger's chucking knives about?