Monday, August 6, 2007

Meet Virginia

Evangeline and I recently finished our “girls only” road trip to Virginia. Good music, good conversation (as much as an 8 year old can dialogue), overall good mom and daughter time. The green, sweet smelling mountain air and the gradual increase of southern twang and hospitality reminded me of why I’ve always wanted to live in the South. I don’t just mean in Virginia, but in the Deep South, where you can use words like Mason Dixon, parasol, y’all, plantation and talcum. Oh, to sip a mint julep on a porch swing would be divine.

I do have two observations about the Commonwealth of Virginia that left me a bit ruffled.

Upon our return trip, we saw several road signs indicating a place called Biscuit World. To a carb addict such as me, the sign might as well have been pointing directly to Heaven. What was this Biscuit World and what kind of blessings on a bun did they serve?

We decided to indulge our quixotic side, and try this enticing place. So, whenever we saw a highway sign for the gourmet eatery I’d get all excited and yell out in typical Wayne’s World fashion, “Biscuit World, Biscuit World Party on Excellent!” Evangeline, of course, being of the deprived generation, had no idea what I was doing, but as long as this behavior pattern led to a little slice of heaven, she was happy to oblige.

At three different exits we attempted to find the elusive, yet advertised, Biscuit World. Three different times we left disappointed and hungry with a lather of grouchiness foaming inside. Either the building was closed down or had been replaced with a Butt Hut, cigar and cigarette outlet. No Biscuit World. Anywhere. Oh, the disappointment! How I would’ve auctioned a limb to get the mouth-watering Southern goodies that waited.

I don’t know, maybe it’s too much to ask that if you advertise a place on the road sign, the corresponding establishment should be there!

Another draw back to Virginia is the humidity factor. Here in Ohio, my naturally curly hair is manageable, dare I say it, able to be straightened, if I have a few extra hours. Not so in Virginia. My hair kinked and curled and resorted to a general state of POOF. I walked around a good two inches taller than usual, thanks to the orbital explosion of my head. I looked like a fat, white woman with a ‘fro, kinda like that creepy, big-headed statue that stands outside those Big Boy Restaurants.

It’s probably a good thing I never found a Biscuit World.

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