Partly Cloudy, 64°
Grandma Margie Hughes could definitely fuck up some Cracker Barrel.
“Oh my golly gee, it’s as if the angels have blessed us!” bellowed Hughes the minute she locked eyes with the sign for her near and dear Old Country Store off of Interstate 90. “George, merge! Goddammit, George, do not screw this up. You better take that exit. We do not want to miss out on that Cracker Barrel because who’s to say when we will come across another one? Oh dear, it could be ages, George.”
“This is just marvelous! Heavenly, even!” Hughes cried out as her husband pulled into the lot of her favorite establishment. “What’s not to love about this place? The old Southern country atmosphere. Those splendid knick knacks they sell in the store. Those hearty home-cooked meals. Oh, I could just devour an entire broccoli cheese casserole! Two, even! You know what they say, home is where the heart is. And my heart is certainly here. At Cracker Barrel.”
At press time, Grandpa could fuck up a well-manicured, 18-hole golf course.
