What a Difference a Letter Makes

So, I had occasion to visit The Town Where Grumpy and Savage Met. Yes, it was an historic moment. BTW, the West Coast Grandson is so adorable he should be cloned. Carlsbad Thai food sucks, and your Savage had a sharp shock. She is only just now beginning to recover, aided by tall bourbons and muscular cabana boys with supple fingers.

Now let me tell you, I married a poor man. His ex reamed him out but good, and at the time I was naught but a minimum wage slave. So when it came time to select the traditional wedding set, we went to the best (that we could sort of barely by the skin of our teeth afford).

Rings & Things. Soon, I was the proud possessor of a genuine diamond, one third of a carat on a 14 karat band. It was official. We were engaged.

Never mind that shortly after the nuptials, I dropped my rings down the kitchen sink drain pipe. Thank gawd for the elbow bend pipe. (Or whatever the hell plumbers call it.)

Anyway...

So, there I was. Hungry. Facing a long drive home. But I was also waxing nostalgic. I had to see it. So I drove to the little shopping center.

Something was wrong...

WINGS & THINGS?

With a simple change of one letter, the world had shifted on its axis and I no longer knew what was what. (To sort of quote my dad.)

Well, I guess those signs are kind of expensive, and when all you have to do is change one letter...

Anyway...

I entered the Wingatorium and read the menu. Feeling brave, I selected the spiciest of the wings. I ate. I gulped coke. I drove home with a tear in my eye.

They say you can't go home again. I say you can. You can, but you may have to eat something. And that is not necessarily a bad thing.