My grandparents are typical older people. They enjoy napping, visiting friends, eating at Ruby Tuesdays, going to church and people watching. They also adore being grandparents, so it wasn’t surprising that they volunteered to pick me up from the airport near them when I flew in from college for Thanksgiving several years ago.

The airport nearest them is located near the interstate, and you have to drive down one long stretch of highway from their town to get out there. There’s a bit of a seedy stretch out there, where a very small strip club (strip shack, if you will) is located.

For quite some time, the sign outside advertized “live girls.” Apparently, my grandparents found this hysterical. “What else would they have – dead girls,” they would remark to each other every time they drove by. No doubt they had laughed about it on the way to pick me up.

Of course, we passed the strip shack on our way back to their house from the airport. But this time, something was different. Instead of a few cars simply parked in front, this time, there was a woman, a woman wearing a skin tight cropped shirt, very short and tight purple mini skirt, and thigh-high heeled boots. I would have expected my grandmother to turn her head and ignore the woman. Instead, she started yelling “I see one! I see one! I see a live girl!” Then, she did the most unexpected thing. She turned to my grandfather, who was driving, and said, “Did you see her? Did you see the live girl?” “No. No I did not.” “Well turn around,” she admonished, “I want to make sure you see the live girl!”

Thankfully, my grandfather had the good sense to just keep on driving.

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