Farmer H is an odd fellow. There we were, sitting in the car, waiting for The Pony to be dismissed from his freshman orientation camp, when Farmer H declared, "That pot is fifty dollars! If I was home, I'd call that lady and tell her I'd be right over."
Let the record show that Farmer H sometimes leaves out the finer details. So I had to ask what he was looking at, and why he needed the $50 pot. Turns out he was looking up some buy/sell/trade Facebook local thingy on his phone. He saw a cast iron pot that he would have LOVED to possess for the low, low price of $10.
"You bet I'd pay ten dollars for a fifty-dollar Griswald pot! Huh. So would Steve. He just sent her a message: 'I'll be right over to get it.'"
"Griswold? Like the Chevy Chase family in Vacation?"
"Yeah. Griswald. A Griswald cast iron pot. They're worth a lot. You don't hardly see them."
When The Pony got into the car, and we went up the road a ways, I told him, "Your father wants the fifty-dollar pot."
Let the record show that The Pony barely raised his eyebrow. I guess he knows us only too well.
This reminds me of the time my mom was embarrassed that she was asked for ID at the Devil's Playground pharmacy when she went to pick up my niece's allergy medicine. "They looked at me like they thought I was going to make The Meth."
Hillbilly people problems.