Travel disclaimer. Before you decide that you can break into my home and steal my collection of authentic diamonelle pendants (which will get you nothing but scornful looks at the pawn shop), please be assured that I’ll have a housesitter while I’m gone. Matt is 6’3” and 200 pounds of pure steroids. My house is also protected by Rottweilers, tiger traps, anti-aircraft guns, an alligator infested moat, and ninjas.
That said, we’re planning a trip to Western Pennsylvania to visit my hubby’s family for Christmas. It’s an eleven hour drive under ideal conditions—the fifth ring of hell during snow and holiday traffic. I’ve always enjoyed our visits there, and the family accepted me from the moment my brother-in-law caught me out back picking at the turkey carcass my first Thanksgiving visit.
Ferrel, PA is not a tourist Mecca. There are no gift shops, no red light district, and no Baskin-Robbins. There is, however a drive-through liquor store just over the Ohio border a few miles away. Obviously, convenience is important when you want to get hammered on the interstate.
It’s a Polish community, which means if I could find a charm for my charm bracelet, it would probably be a sausage. Try explaining a little silver penis on your bracelet at the next Ladies Auxiliary meeting and white elephant sale.
What can I expect? Excellent accommodations at the Red Roof Inn on Swamp Road (I’m not making that up), more food than a Carnival Cruise (without the mysterious stomach ailment at sea), some internet withdrawal (like an intervention without the annoying sermons and testimonials), a chance to wear my 30 year-old muk-luks (a nice way to say it’s going to feel like Siberia in August) and an honest welcome (until I start picking at the turkey carcass).
So I’ll be spending Christmas in a small house, in a small town, with snow, and a big dysfunctional and quirky family. Honestly, everyone should be so lucky.
Oh Chica, sounds wonderful! The cold weather, the sexy muk-luks, the penis bracelet, the succulent turkey carcass. Make sure to stop in the liquor drive-thru and have yourself a beautiful country Christmas!
And I’m gonna miss you on the internet. Dang.
Terri
The technical name for male anatomy is on my black list. Apparently, I can use the p word, but you can’t. Of course, any euphamisms for male testicles are gladly accepted.
Loved this post, Karla. It seems that no matter our race, ethnicity, religion, we all have quirky families in common. Wishing you safe travels and a very merry Christmas!
Alligators are cute! Feed them a used car salesman, and they’re happy. So, that’s the moat accounted for….
Merry Christmas, and I’m sure there’ll be Baskin Robbinses over the Ohio border.
Karla, have a wonderful, Christmas with your hubby’s family…and, definitely, have a safe drive to and from…I hope you don’t have to see that fifth ring of hell…
Merry Christmas, my friend. I’ll miss ya while you’re gone…but, no worries…I have to work, so I likely won’t be thinking too much about writing and WD, and all my friends…I’ll be dealing with the crazies who couldn’t go home for Christmas…wish me luck…
It sounds lovely! 🙂
Lucky you! Enjoy the snow!
“So I’ll be spending Christmas in a small house, in a small town, with snow, and a big dysfunctional and quirky family.”
So, you’re coming to CT then?
Merry Christmas!
A drive-thru liquor store? Sounds like the podunk town where my ex-siblings now reside. They have a place called Pot in the Box. No joke, I swear. Customers go up to a small window, slide in their cash, and out comes their Mary Jane.
They also have a loan shark named…Sharky. He runs a payday loan office.
Pot in a box? Sounds like it was dreamt up in someone’s basement.