Bluegrass Mama

Earlier this summer, Mr. B, BD and I went to Nashville to visit HS and LDIL. We loaded the five of us into the aptly named Fit, and wandered around town.

At one point, Mr. B pulled into a parking lot. Maybe it was the steep grade at the entrance and maybe it was the fact that we had three people in the backseat, but the car bottomed out. The scraping noise was not exactly music to our ears.

Despite having our children and future daughter-in-law in the car, Mr. B and I both let loose with an expletive at the same moment.

He: “Jiminy Christmas!”

Me: “Golly gee willikers!”