I must be an extremely impressionable soul.
As I have discussed, we recently took a trip to the Great Smoky Mountains. While we were there, we visited Dollywood. We also spent a morning shopping in Gatlinburg. I have never been a huge fan of country music. I am not a detractor or anything. I don’t have a systemic hatred of the genre. There are even a few songs that I can identify as favorites of mine. However, country music as a whole never seemed to really resonate with me.
One trip to Dollywood and that changed. I overlayed Tennessee Hill People Culture over my base personality, like one of those “topper” pairs of glasses. The base frames are the same, but there are various “fancy” magnetic covers for those frames that you can purchase individually to change up your look. The core of my personality was still Terri, but I slapped on a set of sparkly, distinctive, “hee hawing” toppers the minute I got out of the car in Tennessee.
I had to stop myself from speaking with a drawl so people would not think I was mocking them. My drawl reflex was not intended to be rude or mocking. I just couldn’t help myself. My delicate ears heard the drawl all around me. My brain somehow managed to translate it and ordered my mouth to respond in kind. It took a lot of intentionality to ignore that command. I spent the entire time we were in Tennessee humming Dolly Parton songs. I even walked around two-stepping with an imaginary partner. I was offended on behalf of the hill people when I looked at goods in “real handmade Smoky Mountain handicraft” stores and saw “Made in China” labels. My GPS got screwed up one morning directing us to the visitor center for the national park. As we slithered our way up a mountain, with no sign of visitors anywhere (actually, no sign of any people at all,) I instinctively knew we were in a “holler” as soon as a saw a couple of rundown houses grouped together and flanked by equally rundown furniture. In an act of solidarity, I left considerable money in jars all over the area asking for help for hurricane relief. I felt really good about it.
The final straw came on our last full day in Tennessee. We were wandering around the shops in Gatlinburg. Uncharacteristically, I was having a challenging time finding stuff to buy. As we passed a shoe store window, a pair of silver sequin ankle boots caught my eye. Now, silver sequin ankle cowgirl boots may be the thing I need least in all the world. However, I could not uncatch my eye. Finally, Max convinced me to go in the store and take a closer look. I went in, hoping to find something about those boots that I hated so I could let go of the whole ludicrous idea that I might actually buy them.
After trying on the display pair in size eight, I loved them. My foot, however, is not a size eight. It seemed especially ridiculous to pay a price upwards of $200 for a pair of shoes that did not fit. Maybe even ridiculous enough to drive the notion from my brain. Max was not to be deterred, however. He asked the sales guy if they had any other sizes. The inventory showed they also had a size seven and a size 7.5. After some concerted searching, the guy found the size seven, but it was too small. He looked and looked and looked for the size 7.5 before admitting defeat. Feeling like Cinderella leaving without the prince, I tried to find relief at not having to decide whether to spend so much money on such an audacious purchase.
As we were leaving the store, the sales guy found the problem. He explained that the 7.5 boots were the ones in the window. They did not want to sell that pair because one of the boots had one tiny, tiny sequin missing. I never would have known it was there if he had not pointed it out to me. I tried the boot on, and it fit perfectly. The sales guy said he would call the vendor and see if they could send me a new pair in the correct size.
Several hours later, he called me to report that the vendor discontinued the boot. They could not send me a new pair because there were no new pairs. Just as my brain was ordering a dip in endorphins, the sales guy suggested an alternative. After discussing the matter with his manager, they agreed that they would sell me the sample boots with the tiny, tiny, tiny imperfection for about $75 off the sticker price. I thought that was more than fair- especially when Max insisted on buying them for me for Christmas. They are now hidden in a closet here at home, hoping that I will forget about them and be surprised on Christmas. I don’t think that is going to happen.
So, I am soon to be the proud owner of a pair of sparkly silver boots. The only way these make sense is if I am going to become a country western singer or a Rockette. I don’t think either of those things are going to happen either . Still, I can’t wait to wear them!
Have a sparkly day!
Terri/Dorry 😊
What is your silliest purchase ever? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.
