Sometime in the not too distant, yet still somewhat hazy future, Randy and I are taking a short trip to Gatlinburg, TN.
We are meeting our mountain friends there. Mountain girl and the Bass player will arrive hours before we do, but that is because they live 40 minutes away.
They have lived in Tennessee for a number of years now and have visited Gatlinburg one time. We’re about to remedy this.
Randy and I are from the part of the midwest where you go one of two places for vacation.
When the tax refund is big enough, one goes to Destin, FL. In the leaner years, it’s a long weekend in Gatlinburg.
It has been quite a while since we’ve been to Gatlinburg.
The last time Randy and I went, we went over his birthday. He got a wicked stomach flu and spent the whole time in bed.
Anyway, Mountain Girl has avoided going to Gatlinburg due to it’s reputation for cheesy attractions.
I have since convinced her that she must experience Gatlinburg and embrace the attractions. Hillbilly golf! Ripley’s Believe it or Not! And the opportunity to buy fudge and little souvenir outhouses.
Our cabin sounds amazing. I can’t wait to get there. I did the research and settled on the cabin with a 17 foot shower because who the fuck doesn’t want a 17 foot shower?
We decided to play a game while we are there.
Each one of us has to surreptitiously buy the tackiest souvenir we can find for under twenty bucks.
On our last night there, we are going to make a case for why our tacky souvenir should win. We’ll vote the next morning and the winner has to display the souvenirs for a year in their house. Or the loser. That can really go either way.
Mountain girl thinks she can out-tacky me, but I have to say, in this case? I’ve been training for years.
Randy and I even got matching lounge pants and black t-shirts. That’s just cabin wear, though. We have not given up enough yet to go out in public dressed alike.
Besides, I grew up on taco dip and 7 layer salad. I’ve played corn hole, for fuck’s sake. For those of you who know “corn hole” to mean something other than tossing bean bags through holes in a slanted board, get your mind out of the gutter. I am not talking about that kind of “corn hole.”
I’ve played thousands and thousands of hands of Euchre and planned whole vacations around time share presentations for free deep sea fishing tickets or free go cart rides. One of my favorite things to eat is anything deep fried and sprinkled with powdered sugar.
Mountain girl is trying, you guys, she really is. It’s adorable.
Friday night, we discussed our upcoming trip.
Mountain girl: I’m just saying, you don’t have the corner on the redneck experience.
Me: Uh huh.
Mountain girl: This one time? I went to a party where the hostess made tiramisu out of twinkies.
Me: You just referenced “tiramisu” in an attempt to out redneck me.
Mountain girl: Oh. yeah.
Me: Twinkies or no, just referencing tiramisu invalidates the whole story.
Me: You even pronounced “tiramisu” all fancy.
Mountain girl: Goddammit, Michelle.
Me: You are toast.
Mountain girl is super excited that I was able to score seats for the Hatfield and McCoy dinner feud. By super excited, I mean she’s terribly skeptical. We’re also going to see a reproduction of the Titanic.
We’ll spend a little time in nature. But not much, I mean, it’s just a long weekend and that ski-lift isn’t going to ride itself.
Now, excuse me, I have to go decide where in my dining room I will be showcasing my winnings.