You Know You’ve Lived in Massachusetts Too Long if These 11 Things Seem Totally Normal

Massachusetts—where the accents are thick, the winters are brutal, and the loyalty to Dunkin’ is borderline religious. If you’ve ever argued about Sox stats at a cookout, referred to anywhere west of Worcester as “the Berkshires,” or driven like you’re being chased by the devil himself, you’re officially Mass-certified. If these 11 things feel like second nature, congrats—you’ve gone full Bay State.

You Use “Wicked” as a Measurement of Intensity

Wicked cold, wicked good, wicked traffic—it’s the Swiss Army knife of adjectives.

You’ve Called Dunkin’ Just “Dunks” and Ordered in Code

“Large regular” means coffee with cream and sugar—if you have to ask, you’re not from here.

You Treat the Boston Accent Like a Badge of Honor

You pahk the cah, not the car. Deal with it.

You’ve Said “Just Take the Pike” Even When No One Asked for Directions

The Mass Pike is in your blood—and probably your GPS history forever.

You’ve Referred to Anywhere That’s Not Boston as “Out There”

Even if it’s 10 minutes away. If it’s not Boston-proper, it’s a journey.

You Know There Are Only Two Seasons: Winter and Road Construction

And sometimes they overlap—just to keep you humble.

You’ve Taken a Duck Boat Tour and Acted Like It Wasn’t the Coolest Thing Ever

Touristy? Maybe. Still awesome? Absolutely.

You’ve Argued About Tom Brady Like It’s a Moral Issue

You either love him forever or feel wicked betrayed—no in-between.

You’ve Pretended to Know How to Navigate a Rotary Without Fear

And you judge anyone who slows down going into one.

You’ve Shoveled Your Car Out of a Snowbank Then Called Dibs with a Chair

Snow laws are unwritten but enforced vigorously.

You Still Say “The T” Even If It’s Broken Half the Time

Complaining about it is part of riding it.

If you read this list while sipping a Dunks, yelling at the TV during a Sox game, or scraping ice off your windshield with a loyalty card, you’re more Massachusetts than a lobster roll at Fenway. So throw on your hoodie, hit the Pike, and remember—here, we don’t just live. We live wicked haahd.