Rednecks White Socks and Blue Ribbon Beer
“Don’t hit that deer, Andra!”
“I SEE IT, DAD!!!!!!”
“Golly Molly, Andra. You’re gonna kill us all. I hope this restaurant is worth all this trouble.”
We wandered into the Gibbes Store in Learned, Mississippi in search of the best steaks around. After clocking 90 miles in six days, I. Am. Always. Famished.
Dad started his Roy Variety Show before his gigantic butt hit the seat.
“Looks like you like antiques, huh?”
The female owner of the place asked us where we were from. I was too busy shoveling salad with comeback dressing into my mouth to answer, but that never matters with Roy The Talking Machine.
The lady took a step closer. “Do you know a town called Denmark?”
I stopped chewing. Dad said, “I know it!”
“Have you been in that three story antique store there?”
I whirled on her. “You know Caroline????”
Her eyes got wide. “She’s my only cousin.”
“She’s my friend Alice’s godmother!!!” I shrieked. “Alice was with me until this morning.”
“I know her parents!”
And so it goes. In a tiny dot in Mississippi, next to the Natchez Trace, we came upon someone who was practically family.