Guns and Roses

Hil knows there are at least 10 other establishments that will all carry exactly the type of vintage clothing she'd like to try on, so she recovers nicely. It is her nature to do so anyway.

Pat is another story. He is devastated by disappointment. His trip is nearly in ruins and it has barely started. This is the Lars' legacy. Anxiety that refuses to loosen its grip on one's thoughts, and preoccupies a person to the point of inaction.

Ten minutes have passed and we are still staring at the Historical Research Center in disbelief.

I make a move. I dig out the tour guide pamphlet to see what other stores might carry the types of things Pat is looking for. We know there is the shop we passed near the Blue Parrot but that will have to wait until our return to the center of town tomorrow.

As I look through the pamphlet, Pat snatches it from my hand. He has convinced himself that the General Store simply must have moved and we can find its new address in the pages of the tour guide!

His frustration and disappointment are palpable. Clearly, The General Store went belly up. There is no mention of it in any of the pages of the pamphlet.

I brightly suggest that it may go by another more appealing name now. For instance there is a Blue and Gray Shoppe up the road that describes itself very similarly. Let's try there!

Let's try anywhere but here on this corner! We walk back to the car, hop optimistically in our seats, do an illegal U-bie and take off.

The shopping is delightful for Hil. Not so much for Pat. Hil and I load up on souvenirs for Scott and his girls and ourselves and visit ghostly-focused shops while Pat traipses through the little historic village of shops in search of authentic war replicas of guns. He finds what he wants at a price he can't pay. He tries to convince me that for that price I should just let him get a real one.

Where is that Big Ass Beer when I need it?

I promise to keep looking and ask him to not let the search for the gun ruin an otherwise lovely time. After all, there is always the horrible little store with the sour-looking young man and all the surplus war gear. Certainly Pat will be able to find something realistically dangerous looking enough to satisfy his craving for a Civil War rifle and to land me in court for child endangerment!

It's been hours. As all the shops begin to lock their doors for the evening I pry a reluctant Pat from the war memorabilia shop and we all get back into the car to head for the hotel. There is a pool and a hot tub, both calling to us. Perhaps they will steam the disappointment out of Pat.

A gal can hope.