You’ve lived through a “big storm” and you talk about it like an Old Timer.
The Great White Blizzard of ‘88, the hurricane of ‘38, the ice storm of 2008… You get the picture.
You know the pain that came with being a Sox fan pre-2004.
You’ve taken advantage of New Hampshire’s no sales tax.
No judgement here.
You have a wicked ah-some accent.
You also enjoy lobstah, get your water from a bublah, and change the channel with a clickah.
You use a traffic cone, a lawn chair, or other household item to stake your claim on a parking spot.
You double-cup your Dunkin.
If it’s good enough for the Pats, it’s good enough for you.
You’re prepared for all four seasons.
Rainboots? Check. Bathing suit? Sure. Condo in Florida? Of course.
You’ve “banged a uey.”
No, this is not a suggestive slur. This is a way of life.
You’ve also been known to make a packy run.
We’ve got the Sox. We’ve got the Bruins. We’ve got the Pats. If there’s any excuse to tailgate, we’ll take it.
You (or someone you know) drives like a Masshole.
Pushy and bossy win the race.
You’re deeply protective of where you get your pizza.
Pepe’s, Sally’s, or Modern. It’s the greatest rivalry since the Sox versus the Yanks.
Witches, vampires, and a big blue bug don’t scare you.
You’ve been to Salem, visited the grave of Mercy Brown, and know that Nibbles Woodaway is actually a termite.
You find any excuse to get your ice cream on.
It’s Ben & Jerry’s or GTFO.
You own at least one pair of Bean boots.
Only fools ignore the potential of a lifetime guarantee.
You forego your gym membership six months out of the year.
Forget marathons. You spend your entire year gearing up for that first snowpocolypse.
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