You're so Mississippi if...

We are unique.

Mississippians, I mean. We have our own way of doing things, saying things, looking at things.

We don’t mind laughing at ourselves about it. We do mind if the laughter originates east, west or north of us.

I feel comfortable writing this story because Mississippi has been home to me my entire life. (OK, not yet it hasn’t, but you know what I’m saying.)

Some of us at MAGNOLIA started kicking around the idea of borrowing Jeff Foxworthy’s “You might be a redneck if … ” and tailoring it to us — residents of the Land Mass. You’re so Mississippi if…

Here are 40 ways we might finish that sentence. If you see yourself in 10 or more, consider yourself “raised right.”

You’re so Mississippi if…

You will fistfight anyone who suggests that Elvis was ever overweight.

You tried living up north but couldn’t take the Memphis winters.

You shot your biggest buck wearing a flannel shirt and starched blue jeans.

You’re still grieving that Weir no longer has a school and therefore no longer has a football team.

You have bought bacon, a posthole digger and a wind suit on the same day at Williams Brothers in Philadelphia, Miss.

You say that a flower is “pretty” but adjust it to “purty” when talking about a girl, a musical performance by a female, or the work of most taxidermists.

You don’t have to ask, “Which one?” when someone refers to the witch’s grave.

You have a special pair of overalls for Sunday morning church.

You regularly add a “t” to the end of the word “once” to create “oncet,” pronounced “wanst” — as in, “We usually eat out about wanst a week.”

You have been stung by a “wost” rather than a wasp.

You understand that “going to the boat” has nothing to do with nautical activities.

You personally know women named Pearline, Maybelline and Geraldine.

You can explain in detail the varying degrees of redneck — not to be confused with hillbilly.

You have used a truck bumper to help ease the pain of an aching tooth.

You have gone through the line at least five times in one trip to the Mississippi State Fair to get a free biscuit.

You stopped eating corn dogs because they remind you of LSU.

You refer to a trip to Jackson as “headin’ to the capital.”

You have sawed off a cast to arm-wrestle.

You refer to “The Young and the Restless” as a “story” instead of a soap opera.

You not only caught 25 bream in a half hour on a cane pole, you also cleaned them, pan-fried them and ate them by 9 a.m.

You can name every high-school football coach within a 50-mile radius of your school.

You don’t waste precious time on syllables when it comes to “Mis-sippi,” but you always correctly pronounce Belzoni, Kiln, Oktibbeha, Louisville and Yoknapatawpha.

You planned your wedding around an SEC football game.

Your bridesmaids outnumbered your wedding guests.

You own a second home but only use it “wanst” a year, and it’s in Neshoba County.

You have participated in or heard a “Southern squeal” — when two women bump into each other and utter a high-pitched, “Heyyyyy! How are youuuuuu? You look so greeeeeeeat!”

Your idea of a great first date involves a bonfire and a field.

You don’t blink at 100-degree days, but if the weather forecast contains the word “snow,” you rush to the grocery store for bread, milk, and an extra can of biscuits.

You’ve used a flashlight to shop at the Canton Flea Market (or a garage sale) at the crack of dawn.

You’ve attended all three Saturday performances at the Dixie National Rodeo.

You include the word “and” when giving the year: “In 19and83, we had our best crop yet.”

You have had an entire meal that was fried and the color yellow.

You consider crackers and butter a legitimate appetizer.

You would never consider calling a lightning bug a “firefly.”

You have killed poisonous snakes with garden tools.

You know the writing is on the wall at Rowan Oak and Hal & Mal’s.

Your nose can tell the difference between a chicken plant and a paper mill.

You value your cowbell more than you do your siblings.