A good friend (and fellow Fellow) recently recounted the following anecdote regarding authenticity in Maine.
Her boyfriend knows a guy, let’s call him Elliott, who isn’t from Maine, but has lived there for quite a long time. All of Elliott’s kids (I never learned the mother’s name in this story) were born and raised in Maine, so he figures that, even though he will never truly be from Maine, regardless of how long he lives there, his kids at least are from Maine.
An old Maine-er corrected him by saying: “Ooooooh, Elliott. You can put a cat in the oven, but that doesn’t make her kittens biscuits.”
And that ends today’s adventures in xenophobia.