We always pass Aberdeen, Maryland on our way down to DC, and this time it made our hearts go all warm and fuzzy.
So much so that we had to pull off the highway and take a look for ourselves (plus the baby needed a feed). This sign greeted us. How we laughed. Aberdeen: All America City. Riiiiiiight.
I spotted this man along the Memorial Day parade route. There is something curiously incongruous in a kilt-clad laddie wearing a "Don't Tread on Me" t-shirt, one of the slogans of American independence. Or perhaps not. After all, the Scots probably still hate the English more than we ever did.
This video evidences one of Trey's many endearing qualities. How to describe it? People who know him well will know what I'm talking about. He has little routines. Certain words, phrases, or, in this case, highway signs elicit them. For example, if you were ever to mention the word "tumor" in his presence, he would automatically say in his best Arnold impression, "It's not a tuma." (think Kindergarten Cop) Every time, and I mean EVERY TIME, we pass the sign to and from DC which says Glen Burnie, Maryland, he says in his best Scottish brogue the following:
And that reminds me of a little story I don't know that I ever shared on the blog. About a year ago Trey and I took a little date night into the city center (of Aberdeen). I think we went to La Bamba for a little Mex and margaritas. I said, "I wonder what happens when you ride the number one (bus) all the way to the end." "Let's do it and see." So we two usually level-headed adults threw caution to the wind and intentionally missed our stop by the Tesco, riding the bus to its end. What happens, you ask. Nothing really. They turn the bus around in a church parking lot in Danestone, dim the lights, inspect the front of the bus, wait a few minutes, and then retrace the route in the other direction. The bus driver and his student (apparently Sunday nights are training nights) looked at us in slight bemusement when we told them that we just wanted to ride the bus to the end of the line. But the story doesn't end there. As we disembarked later, I dared Trey to say in his best Scottish accent, "Cheers, driver!" And he did it. Serious, intense Trey did it. I laughed so hard. For those of you unfamiliar with Aberdeen buses, that's what all the older gentleman say to the bus driver as they exit the vehicle. It's quaint and cheerful and sounds utterly ridiculous when spoken by anyone other than a tweed-clad pensioner. We later shared that tidbit with our landlord, who was from Glasgow. He laughed very heartily at Trey's impression of an Aberdonian "Cheers, driver!" and then we challenged him to say it with his best American accent. Of course, his tongue stumbled around our over-pronounced Rs. Good times!