To The Magical History Tour
A Slap Happy Start to an East Coast Adventure
Two things are sure when you plan a vacation. One is you’ll come out the other side remembering things you didn’t seek. The other is that it is always more expensive than any estimate going in.
When we shared our plans to zigzag up the east coast on what we dubbed our “magical history tour,” others didn’t understand this type of vacation.
“Wow, that’s aggressive” or “You’ll need a vacation after your vacation” capsulate the comments we heard. Oh, another was that we wouldn’t be anyplace long enough to truly experience it.
But we were veterans of such family road trips to see America. So we knew full well what we were going to experience was the unexpected and that was what our trips were about. Littered in were the usual, and some unusual, tourist attractions and traps.
We started with a long day’s drive to get to Virginia. By suppertime, we were slap happy. Our vacation had just begun and already a relatively well-mannered family was about to slip on a banana peel of inappropriateness.
That proverbial banana peel came in the form of a sign across from our restaurant sporting two O’s next to each other with a small center darkened low in each. The name of the place was lit in neon and had the letters b,o,o,b,s but not in that order. We didn’t care. And when we started play-asking each other directions to “Boobs Bakery” in a Swedish accent, we grew louder and louder with roaring belly laughter.
“Thut might nut beee thu wooord dey say in theeez country, yaw?”
It was okay while we were the only patrons but when the place filled in, our attempts to hold back made matters worse. One snort instead of letting a laugh out loud and we were all four doubled-over. I hate people like that! And here we were those people!
One thing led to another and as the kids today say, “That was random.” And so it was when the conversation turned, setting sights on my tattoo.
I have a silly tattoo on my arm of a mouse I got years ago in the Army. The 18-year-old me thought it was a design I could live with for the rest of my life. The middle-aged me thought differently.
So in our melee of a good time in this restaurant, my kids took rare notice of my exposed tattoo. My son quipped, “Can you make your drunk mouse dance?”
My daughter literally shot soda (I’m from the Midwest so I really want to say “pop” not “soda”) out of her mouth and made a scene with her uncontrollable laughter.
“Why was that so funny?” I asked pulling my short sleeve down a bit over my mouse.
She revealed that what she had heard was, “Can you make your junk dance?”
We all lost it!
“Come on now, we’re not over there at Boobs!”
I honestly thought we were going to be shown the door.
By Rocco Satullo, your tour guide to fun!