When I was just a boy, my ma always said, “You can’t make a country boy outta a city slicker.” Daggumit if she ain’t had it right. I done seen a great many things in this lifetime, and I ain’t never seen a city slicker pack on up and learn hisself how to shush a squealin’ hog, or how to birth a calf with nothing but a sidesaddle and a tire iron.
No sir: ya’ll ain’t never seen a man make a country boy outta a city slicker, and ya’ll never will.
But, if only for the sake of argument, let us consider here whether the converse holds.
Let Ω define the space of all people in existence. Additionally, let CB ⊂ Ω define the space of all country boys and let CS ⊂ Ω define the space of all city slickers. Clearly, CB ∩ CS ≠ ∅—’cause, shucks, I’m guilty of being a bit of both from time-to-time! Hence, we will only consider the disjoint sets α = CS ∩ CB′ and β = CS′ ∩ CB, where α is the set of those who are city slickers, but not country boys, and β is the set of those who are country boys, but not city slickers.
Given there does not exist a function f that maps α → β, does there exist a function g: β → α?
Well, I’m not one to spin a yarn, but I ’member ’bout ten summers back, I was plowing Old Man Jennings’ yard as a thank-ya for Ma Jennings sharin’ her huckleberry cobbler. I reckon it was hotter than a goat’s butt in a pepper patch, so Old Man Jennings let me come inside for some water before too long, and we got to conversatin’. He was tellin’ me ’bout how his boy Jake’s changed ever since he headed out to university. He was so proud of his boy when they got the word that he got in. He was happier than a puppy with two peckers. Lord knows, if Old Man Jennings’ brains were leather, he couldn’t saddle a flea. So he was happy his boy Jake had a head on his shoulders. But when Jake would come back to visit from college, he was acting queerer than hell—uppity, mean, and with piddly any respect for his elders. The boy thought his shit didn’t stink.
In a word, he had become a city slicker. He was too lazy to work the farm, he wouldn’t go with the family to church, he didn’t even roll his own tobbacy anymore. You’re darn tootin’ his pa was upset. Jake and his old man suddenly were just arguin’ nonstop, ’bout everything and the kitchen sink. Jake was defendin’ some stuff a family man like me won’t even dignify.
It was clear their boy had changed. Gone was the boy without a lick of mean in him, that was fit as a fiddle and always keepin’ his hands busy. Now, after leavin’ the farm, he’s as useless as tits on a bull.
Hence, I have done proved that although ∄f: α → β, ∃g: β → α. I could continue on with further examples, like what happened to Jethroe Baker, or Cooter Jones, but the tale of Jake Jennings is plenty proof for the existence of a mapping β → α. For a corollary on country girls, see appendix.