I am not West Virginian.

I'm originally from Ohio. In Ohio, there may be Confederate flags flying in the towns south of Canton, there might be only three counties in the entire state that vote Democrat (Cuyahoga, Trumbull, and someplace in Columbus), and there might be race riots in Cincinnati. We have a greater brain drain than mine after the night when I toasted the death of Marlon Brando with a different shot for each of his major movies. We might have a river that caught on fire--twice.

But at least we're not West Virginian.

Every Ohioan feels it is his or her birthright to imply, state and out-and-out slander West Virginia in all of its cousin-marrying, inbred, and deformed glory. We like it. We take pride in picking on this moutainous, shut-in, and uncouth region. Like any bully, it reassures us of our superiority (as, generally, we're a little touchy in the self-esteem).

So imagine my HORROR when the super of my building mistook Adam (my fiance) for my brother.