(What? You sight-see your way, I'll sight-see mine.)
Without further ado, I hand you over to DD:
The first time my parents visited us after the Navy brought us back to the Old Dominion, the local landmark that caught my mother's eye was not the vividly blooming Norfolk Botanical Garden. Neither was it the historical majesty of the battleship USS Wisconsin, nor was it the seedy summertime charm of the Virginia Beach boardwalk.
No, it was a hair salon.
She immediately made a solemn vow that -- unbeknownst to my dad (should I call him TG? No, I'm afraid that's just too weird) and me -- would lock us into a quest fit for... well, fit for a blog post: "Oh! Oh, I have got to get a picture of that next time we're down here!"
It started out innocently enough. Tee-hee, a "bear" bottom! How droll.
But then the chortling started, and the camera click-clicked again.
The local mall turned out to be a wellspring of Mom-giggles, the source of which would be readily apparent to any given gaggle of twelve-year-old boys.
After a certain amount of speculation as to whether the aforementioned bag store would have been better situated directly beneath "Good Wood," we found something that elicited something resembling a cackle of gutter-minded glee.
Oh yes, you can only imagine her delight upon seeing that Fudge Brothers was also a purveyor of roasted nuts. Fresh ones, even.
The ride home yielded one final gem: "Heh heh... do it. It's a hardware store."
Now, I am married to a Sailor, and we spend plenty of time around his fellow aviators. The ready room is by no means a bastion of rarefied academic discussion; there is a reason that these guys are quick to joke that they are "officers and gentlemen by act of Congress only!" Naughtiness doesn't particularly faze me. And yet...
Even I am a little scared to contemplate that which might tickle my mom's sense of humor after we partake of a little "questionable" wine with dinner.
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