Chopper and I got back yesterday from several days at the lake with Mom and Dad, and we made a brief foray up to Lynchburg with them and Margie to eat lunch at Miss Bobo’s. When one is in Lynchburg, one goes to the Jack Daniel’s distillery. That is the way of things.
Chopper, Dad, and Margie are all Tennessee Squires, members of a group of “special friends” of the distillery. When visiting the distillery, squires spend a little time in the Squire Room, and get a little TLC from the distillery staff. Squires sign in with their squire number, or they can be looked up by last name and address in the database.
I paraphrase, for your enjoyment, a conversation had between my grandmother and the very nice lady (whose name I unfortunately did not get and will subsequently be referred to as “VNL”) in the Squire Room. I suspect this tale will be repeated. Often. And my dear grandmother will probably be slightly upset for me for committing it to print (so to speak).
The VNL asked Margie for her squire’s card, which Margie didn’t have with her. The VNL gently and humorously asked her why she didn’t keep it in her wallet.
“Oh,” said my grandmother, “I take it out before I go to church on Sunday.”