For their annual road trip, Robert and Maggie – now well into their late 70s – were driving across the deep south, taking in the sights and sounds of Louisiana.
As they cruised down the interstate, Maggie noticed a road sign for the upcoming town of Natchitoches.
“Natch-i-toh-chez,” Maggie said slowly, sounding out the name. “What an interesting name for a town.”
Robert furrowed his brow. “Natch-i-toh-chez? I think you’re pronouncing that wrong, dear.”
“Oh, am I now?” Maggie replied with a challenging glance. “And how would you say it, Mr. Pronunciator?”
“It’s pronounced Nack-a-tush,” Robert stated matter-of-factly. “I’m certain of it.”
For the next twenty miles, Robert and Maggie went back and forth, each insisting their pronunciation was correct.
Finally, Robert’s rumbling stomach signaled it was time for a break.
They pulled off at a Burger King just past the Natchitoches town limits. Still bickering, they entered the restaurant.
Robert stepped up to the counter where a friendly blonde waitress greeted them:
“Before we order any food, ma’am, could you please settle an argument for us?” he asked. “Would you please pronounce where we are very slowly?”
The waitress, accustomed to dealing with the elderly, didn’t skip a beat:
“Burrr-gerrr Kiiing.”
