QUOTE : He shrugged. “You know, looks after her house, does repair work, yard work, cleans the gutters, man stuff.”<br /><br />I made a face. “Man stuff?”<br /><br />Hank gave me a flat look. “Don’t give me that. This ain’t Los Angeles or Boston. This here is Green Valley, Tennessee. Men do men’s work.”<br /><br />“Oh, like run strip clubs?” I batted my eyelashes at him.<br /><br />He snorted. “No. That’s just workwork. I’m not saying men don’t clean ovens around here, and I’m not saying women don’t mow lawns. I’m just saying, more often than not, a man has his place and a woman has hers, everybody pulls their weight and no one minds it much. We all do our chores and help each other. So stop with the cosmopolitan, enlightened judgmental shit.”<br /><br />Hank was easy to tease when it came to his roots. If I wanted to get him worked up, I’d call him a yokel. I didn’t think of Hank as a yokel. In fact, I wasn’t even sure what a yokel was...<br /><br />I held my hands up. “Fine, okay, whatever. I won’t pick on your precious cultural norms, your white privilege, or your fried chicken.”<br /><br />“Good.” He nodded once. “Then I won’t pick on your telenovelas or tortillas.”<br /><br />“That’s right, you won’t.