Recently hubby and I traveled to east Tennessee for my cousin’s wedding. Not only were we all a little relieved that he was getting married, the bride is nice to boot. The cousin is almost 37 and, as June Cleaver as it sounds, we were starting to think that he was either gay or a serial killer. The wedding was nice and all, but Grandma Moses, why does there have to be so many wedding-related family activities to attend? Can’t we just arrive and lounge around and watch TV like we would do any other weekend? Then we would get up and go to the main event. Why do we have to go to five different events, all of which involve eating entirely too much food, smiling at a bunch of people we will never see again and wondering when and where you are going to be able to poo again. I could be in my shitty Comfort Inn room watching Titanic for the 7th time on cable. What a waste.
The reception was actually held at the estate of the douche empire, Massengil. I’ll let you digest that one for a while. Nice estate, just a weird connection.
The best and worst part was getting there and coming home. My brother rode down there with us and three seconds after showing up at his house to gather his sorry ass, I was reminded why I only see him at Christmas. He flew home to get back to work early and hubby and I got the whole ride home to ourselves. It was a great drive, split over two days and included a stop in Metropolis, Illinois — the home of Superman. They have more Superman crap there than you can shake a stick at. Also, there is some old French fort there near the Ohio river. Just below the fort’s edge, there were prisoners picking up river debris and they were being lorded over by a guard with a rifle. I took some photos. It will really make a nice background for my next scrapbooking project.
There is lot of farm (and evidently prison) land along the way. Here is an excerpt of a conversation hubby and I had.
Me: “Are a goat and a lamb the same?”
hubby: “No, a lamb is a sheep.”
Me: “Aren’t a goat and a sheep the same thing?”
hubby: “No.” (Inside his head I’m sure he’s questioning why he married such an idiot.)
Me: “What’s the difference? What makes a sheep a sheep?”
hubby: “I guess it’s all the wool.”
Tell me who’s dumb now, bitches! Clearly, I’m the one with the engaging sense of curiosity and a love of learning. He’s just making shit up.