In Newark, New Jersey, I once worked with a chap from the Deep South. One day at five, he said he was “headin’ ta th shoe show”.
I asked him to repeat what he’d said.
“I’m goin’ ova ta th shoeshow,” he replied in a voice all molasses and Spanish moss. I told him I wasn’t understanding.
“I’m goin’ ova the strip joint. Alls they wear is shoes.”
I have been…