It's one o'clock on President's Day, I'm piddling in the kitchen and minding my own business. I have NOT, I would like to make perfectly clear right up front, been drinking. Although I think it might have helped.
The phone just rang. This is one of those "Only here," moments...pure, rural life in the fast lane.
*Is Virginia there?
*No, you have the wrong number.
*Did this used to be Virginia Hale’s phone number?
*I don’t know. We’ve had it for over eight years. But my sister is a Hale, and if you want to know Virginia’s phone number, you can call my sister’s father-in-law, David Hale. He’ll know.
*Virginia was married to Harold. They lived on county road 17. Do you know if they’re still there?
*No, but David will be able to tell you.
*There’s a Tim Hale on county road 17. Do you think he might know?
*No, that’s David’s son, Tim. You need to call David.
*Is this the Virginia Hale who was a Goins?
*I don’t know. But call David and he’ll be able to help you.
*Well, thank you very much. I haven’t talked to Virginia since 1989. I hope she’s doing well.
It was a pure WTF moment. Who was that masked man? Are my feet on the ground? Is it five o'clock somewhere?