THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, April 11, 1995 TAG: 9504110050
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: My Family
SOURCE: By DIANE TENNANT, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Medium: 80 lines
LOOK, I SAID to my husband. The West Virginia state liars' contest is coming up again.
Mmmmm, he replied noncommittally, glancing at the magazine I held. He has learned to tread cautiously during our 15 years of marriage. But I never lie to him unless I'm in West Virginia. Honest.
The liar's contest is in May every year. I'm sorry I'll have to miss it. It has a lot of atmosphere.
As do most of our trips back home to The Mountain State.
There was plenty of atmosphere last week at the grandparents' house, where we retreated during spring break. Cousins, aunts, uncles, great-aunts, great-uncles, six sets of lambs, three wild turkeys and a necklace made of 45 buttons, to be exact. I believe it started with cousin Natalie's phone call.
``Natalie's coming over after dinner,'' my husband called to his mother.
``No, she's not. Natalie always lies,'' his mom responded. ``Do you want mashed potatoes or sweet potatoes?''
I expected him to say ``baked potato.'' It's a safe answer he adopted after taking me to dinner twice early in our marriage. We were celebrating something, I forget what, and we took his folks to the classiest restaurant in that part of West Virginia. In fact, I think it was just over the line in Pennsylvania.
My husband pointed to something on the menu and whispered to me, ``How do you pronounce this?''
``POT pouree,'' I replied, with that deadpan look he has come to fear.
``I'll have the POT pouree,'' he said to the waiter.
``You mean the potpourri,'' the waiter responded coldly. I marveled at how he could turn down the tip of his nose like that while his chin was so high in the air.
The next time my husband sought my advice was at a steak house. ``How do you pronounce that rice thing?'' he asked.
``PIE lafe,'' I said, deadpan.
``I'll have the baked potato,'' he said to the waitress.
So we rustled up sweet potatoes at his mom's house last week and as I rolled 'em over in the glaze, Natalie walked in the front door.
``I'm sorry I'm early,'' she lied.
Aunt Dot, Natalie's mom, was rhapsodizing about a necklace she wanted, crocheted from thread and strung with 45 buttons in various shades of mauve. ``Did you see the
pattern?'' she asked me. ``Mmmmm,'' I said.
``What did you think?'' Dot pressed on.
``Beautiful,'' I said, deadpan.
Cousin Linda came through the door next afternoon, with kids and Aunt Wilma in tow. We had thoroughly discussed The Nashville Network, ``The Lion King,'' e-mail and the neighbors, when my husband asked Aunt Wilma whether she was missing her soap opera.
``I HAVE NEVER WATCHED SOAP OPERAS,'' Aunt Wilma bellowed, at her customary 100 decibels. You don't like to accuse someone with that volume of lying, so we let it pass.
We tossed the kids in the car next day and headed down Sleepy Hollow (it's true) to the old family farm. My city-bred children stared with mouths agape at the six sets of twin lambs, at the lumbering work horse, at the three wild turkeys in the chicken house, at the outhouse. ``Close your mouth and watch where you're walking,'' I said as we crossed to the cow pasture.
``We will,'' they chorused. ``Eeewwww,'' my daughter said, looking at the bottom of her shoe.
They threw rocks in the ``crick,'' giggled at the size of the horseshoes hanging on the fence, stuffed their pockets full of turkey feathers and pine cones.
I was pleased with their immersion in mountain living. When the teacher asks about vacation, my kids' stories will blow Disney World out of the water.
``And what did you do on your spring break?'' my son's first-grade teacher asked on his return to school.
``I slept with grandma,'' he replied.
Hmmmm. Given the connotations of that honest answer, I think I'd rather he'd lied. by CNB