"So where you from?"

The conversation always starts off innocently enough, and almost always, I can tell what the reaction will be before I answer, all by sizing up the way he asks the question. And the annoying ones are almost always a he. Once I answer "Kansas City," it's often one of three predictable reactions: "Kansas City!" Blank look on my face. "You're a long way from Kansas Dorothy!" I then tell them I'm actually from Missouri, to which they nod and say "I know, I know!" At which point there really is no response to the idiocy in front of me. The next possible answer, preceded by an all-knowing grin as if they're about to let me in on a centuries-old secret: "New York's a lot different from the Midwest!" Clearly a Mensa candidate. I try not to let my face show the pain endured just by having this conversation. The final and most common reaction to where I was born, raised and still call home: "Really!" Yes. "Well you don't look like someone from Missouri." Oh my God it hurts. "How do you like New York?" Well mister, it's been 11 years since I got off the prairie wagon and stowed away my bonnet and gosh darn it, I'm just in heaven here. At this point the look of exasperation on my face and sarcastic tone in my voice is so bad that I almost revert to my midwest roots and feel bad for not being more accepting of other people's thoughts that they actually somehow let themselves verbalize. But then I remember I live in New York where stupid people must not be tolerated. And then I thank God for giving me two great places to call my own.