Yesterday I had a car load of little girls, going to (((SHUDDER))) Silverwood Theme Park. If you've never been to Silverwood, just imagine a North Idaho version of an Old West-themed Disneyland full of approximately 164,000 very large, very white rednecks in Monster Truck t-shirts who are willing to stand in 104 degree heat for 50 minutes to ride a rickety old roller-coaster called "Timber Terror".
In other words, it's my idea of hell.
We go there once a year, all because Silverwood is sneaky and rewards school children for reading by giving them free tickets to their park. The parents, on the other hand, have to pay FORTY ONE DOLLARS each to get in. Oh, and another $100 for corn dogs and bottled water. Oh. Sorry. My bitterness got in the way there for a minute.
Anyway, as we approach the park, cars are backed up two miles from the entrance, and we're stuck in stop-and-go traffic in mind-scorching heat. The girls were getting squirrelly, a result of the hour-long drive out there and maybe also the 68 ounce chocolate milk-shakes I let them have for breakfast.
In an effort to entertain themselves, the girls began waving to the people in the car behind us. The car's occupants waved back politely, which is the equivalent to casually tossing a seagull a french fry.
The girls began throwing different hand signals toward the car behind us, which totally totally cracked them up. As they got more and more silly, one of them shouted "What if they think we're Hillbillies?" "What if they think we're Hobos?" responded another. Not to be outdone Sydney, the youngest, yelled:
"What if they think we're HO-BILLIES??"