Sunday Check-In

Mayberry Highlights that haven’t yet been shared:

*Go to Mayberry bar, which we’ll refer to as the The Henning House (literally the only business establishment in town, and has the best steak you’ll ever eat in your life. And it ain’t grass-fed) with some friends from high school. Before I even get my ass into a barstool, the bartender asks if I want a Coors Light. Male friend from high school’s jaw hits the floor, and he proceeds to question me for 20 minutes about how I get service like that when I live 700 miles away. Hint: The Goldensteins as a whole spend quite a bit of time (and money) at the Mayberry bar. I don’t think he believed me when I told him that the bartenders often have my parents’ and aunt and uncles’ drinks at their table before they sit down, or that they a special glass solely for MamaG’s Manhattans, but I’m here to tell you- Bev don’t lie, y’all.

*Pick up cousin Bessie the morning after Smoke’s hand surgery to hit the gym and grocery store. As we drive back by my parents’ house (8 a.m.; 18 hours after surgery), we see ol’ Smokey rollin’ across the yard with a shop broom in one hand, and a drill in the other. I was there for the pre and post-op meetings with doctors, but I must’ve missed the part where they told him he could do whatever the hell he pleases the day after they cut his hand open.

(I would do a whole post about this surgery, but it’s really probably not funny to anyone else, and… well, he’d probably kill me if/when the parents ever do find out about this blog. Let’s just say, I don’t think the doctors have ever been asked by a patient about if/when he can drive a skidloader after surgery. And I’m damn sure the nurse was ready to get a tack hammer to get the IV into the man’s hand. She may or may not have said something to the effect of, “So, what kind of work do you to get these rough hands?”)

*And, just to round out this recap, we’re sitting on our porch the other night having cocktails, and Mom is talking to my aunt about picking up some hairspray for her when she goes to her nail appointment. Apparently, the beautician who works in the next town over has the phone number 998-COMB to help customers remember it (cute, right?). Upon hearing this, Smoke proclaims his number is 358-TRACTOR. I’m seriously considering changing mine to 530-WINO.

I’m seriously considering pitching a Goldenstein Mayberry reality show. Except the Goldensteins would rather have their hair set on fire than be on TV, so… we’re gonna have to settle for the updates from here.

But speaking of reality shows, stay tuned for an actual idea in tomorrow’s post. It’s a real gold(enstein) mine.

-Beverly