I heard myself use a Southernism

Context
A colleague of mine at the library was telling me that after cleaning files and books off her desk that had been there for a long time, she was surprised to see that there were a bunch of ink stains on the surface from when she'd been writing and smeared. I told her that never happened to me as I rarely use an "ink pen" for my job.

Commentary
My parents were Southerners, but I don't usually consider myself one. Over time, though, I've taken on some of the speech patterns of American South. For example, I can't tell you the last time I actually pronounced the "g" at the end of an "ing" verb. I used "y'all" long before I moved to Shreveport, because it cures the omission of a second person plural in formal English, and now that I'm here I also find myself saying things like "buggy" for "grocery cart." Apparently "ink pen" has joined the mix.

I found myself wondering today why people in the South add the word "ink" to "pen." Don't all pens have ink? Well, pig pens don't, but I don't think that's the issue. It comes back to an inherent problem with Southern English, a drawback to the drawl, if you will: there is pretty much no difference between the short "e" sound and the short "i" sound. This is usually not a big deal, as context will tell the listener the difference between "bliss" and "bless" and between "tin" and "ten." How often does someone ask you to lend them tin dollars, after all?

"Pin" and "pen" are different though, because they're often used in the same context. Picture me sitting at my desk in the I.T. department. I can't see my colleague in the next cubicle, so if she says, "I need a pin," I don't know if she's asking for something to write with or the password for a web page she's trying to access. The problem is not relieved by the natural tendency of people to make a word longer in order to be clear. If I ask my workmate to repeat herself, no matter what she wanted she's going to say, "a pee-ye-nuh." No help at all.

You may think I'm ragging on Southern speech, but I'm not. A true drawl is a lovely, mellifluous thing, greatly to be admired. If you've never heard one, you probably think the name "Lynn" consists of one syllable. Nuh-uh. My late mother-in-law, who was from East Texas, routinely drew it out to four. Remember up above, when I was talking about "short e" and "short i?" That's how I was taught to describe them when I was in grade school, but that was a long time ago and I wasn't in the South. I don't know what students are taught here, because there's no such thing as a short vowel sound. Shorter, maybe, but not short. And the shortest of them all is what is technically classified as a long vowel sound: the "i" in "fire." It's pronounced "ah." That means it's difficult to tell the difference between "fire" and "far," but again, context helps.

Nor do I think my perception that there is no distinction between the "e" and the "i" is because I'm not from 'round here (Yup, I use all kinds of Southernisms). I honestly don't think native-born Southerners can tell the difference either, because I've heard conversations between them that sound like the one described a couple of paragraphs ago. Apparently some time ago someone decided to resolve the problem by adding "ink" in front of the appropriate "pen," and the solution caught on. Ironically, the similar-sounding vowels have not become a part of my speech yet, but the workaround has. I guess I am now prepared to ramp up my drawl.

What did you hear today?