In August, when my Aunt 'Ricia and cousin Tamara stopped by on their drive from Michigan to Las Vegas (yeah, maybe we're all geographically challenged), we were excited to visit the Hank Williams museum in Montgomery, Alabama. The tradition is to do a shot of whiskey over his grave, since he had supposedly gotten thrown out of the Grand Ole' Opry because of whiskey on his breath. Actually, I think you're supposed to leave the shot, but we are not a wasteful crew.
Alabama law forbids the sale of alcohol on Sunday, but fortunately, we had connections: my sister Tiffany's boyfriend's mother had a stash of travel-size shot bottles, which she smuggled into the nursing home to her mother every week. As we were leaving, she asked if any of us had to use the restroom, to which my son Patrick replied, "Aaaaaah do," in the thickest southern accent I have ever heard.
Tomorrow is the first day of my new federal job. When I get sworn in, I'm gonna raise that right hand and say, "Aaaaah, do!"