Spent the weekend camping with the gf and her family. On Sunday we went to the Apple Butter Festival. It just seemed like the appropriate dorky hick thing to do when camping in Appalachia, and it was very nice except it was brutal hot. We ate BBQ, drank beer and of course bought apple butter and other dorky hick things all the while observing hillbillies in their natural habitat (Hey, my use of ‘hillbilly’ isn’t bigotry in this instance. It’s one of those words you can say if you are one).
She has such a nice family, so all those conversations she and I have been having got me in the mood to join her family. So I casually asked if she would like to look at rings on the way home. The only smile I ever recall being wider at that suggestion was the smile she got latter when I selected a two stoner running at about two months of my take home pay. Let’s just say it met with her approval.
We suggested to her family we all get together at a Peruvian restaurant next Sunday, where I will make it formal in front of her family asking for her brother’s permission. Her family does not know.
Oh crap, am I really going to do this again?
And NO! She’s not a stripper. . . . . at least not for the viewing public.