Please, please, I beg of you.
Do not ever suggest a restaurant to hungry members of my family, in town for the funeral of a beloved family member, and then take the scenic route, over about 35 miles of circuitous country roads, never traveling faster than 25 mph, to get to the food.
They will eat you.
That’s what happened to my 42-year-old nephew who was trying to be nice to members of his Kentucky family who were on his turf in Virginia.
It was a two-car caravan with my nephew in the lead car with three Kentuckians, and his sister, our niece, in the second car with four more.
On and on it went with the niece trying valiantly to save her brother by pointing out historical sites and battlefields along the way. We exchanged phone calls and suggestions and even threats. But finally, even my niece gave up, sensing the heightened indecision flowing from the first car.
With my sister driving and our niece, map in hand, as co-pilot, our car passed the lead car as we all stopped at a crossroads.
It simply proves women are better navigators, or, at least, map-readers.
We finally arrived at the buffet in Manassas from the back roads leading from Purcellville, which was chosen so that all tastes could be satisfied, some 45 minutes or more after our venture began. That was far too long for my impatient, uncompassionate, sharp-tongued relatives to endure.
But my nephew survived, took the ribbing in stride, and we all ate well.
However, he realizes he will be the subject of future family gatherings for years to come.
I am a native Kentuckian, and I have worked at the Lexington Herald-Leader for nearly a quarter of a century. I've been a columnist for almost 20 of those years, dispensing my opinions about anything and everything. Born in Owensboro, Ky., I'm old enough to have lived through racial segregation, the Civil Rights Movement, protests against the Vietnam War, and the break-up of the Beatles. That means I am "old school," and my thoughts emanate from that perspective.