Drop Dead Ned

     I have trouble going to sleep.  Once I'm asleep, I'm good, but getting to the actual snooze is a big problem for me.  My mind just takes a while to wind down.  About an hour, most nights.  Most of the time, I'm not worried.  I just...think...about everything!  I've already admitted that I'm very distractible, so it's not unusual for me to jump from a very deep, emotional, or Biblical thought to something as unimportant as whether I should change the sheets the next morning or just let them fester another day.  Okay, fester is a strong word.  "Not smell fresh" might be a better way of putting it.  Odors are very important to me.  Anyway...
     A few nights back, I was going through the usual "bedtime thought cycle", when, out of nowhere, a thought somehow phased into a memory of a recent trip to South Carolina with my mom, my aunt, Darlene, and my cousin, Brandi.  It was a great trip down!  Mom and Darlene talked about food the whole way, just as Brandi had predicted.  (Don't you love it when your family does predictable things?  I love it.  There's a sort of comfort in knowing that, though life takes it's toll on all of us, some things haven't changed.  Enjoy the "unchanged" things about people while you have them!)  The thought of being together made it a great trip, but the thought of seeing even more loved ones once we got there made it wonderful beyond words!
     We had a mild first evening with my Aunt Dee, talking and laughing and drinking boat loads of coffee.  The next morning, we were off to see Charleston, and the main event would be a buggy tour through the historic district, compliments of my cousin, Shannon and her husband, Buzz.  Before we pulled out of the barn, our driver introduced himself.  His name was Ned.  Instantly, it was obvious that Ned has a fatal attraction...to himself.  He spouted off how many degrees he had and made sure we knew he was a college professor, majoring in History and the Arts.  Then, Ned made a stop to have the tour route approved with some traffic official.  While we waited, we nudged one another, quietly pointing out attractions, anticipating a pleasant, educational tour of Charleston.  Then, I looked up to see Ned glaring at Dee (who, consequently, is very soft spoken by nature) like a spinster school teacher, obviously annoyed that every "pupil" isn't looking adoringly into his beautiful, obviously much-wiser-than-us-all face.  What exactly was said then, I honestly couldn't quote, but the gist was this - "I can just ride you around and let you talk, or you can shut your mouth and let me impart my wisdom.  Maybe you should ask the other people on this wagon, who paid for a tour, if they would rather listen to you or me." 
     We were in awe.  It was the kind of rudeness that literally leaves you speechless.  Then, when it sinks in what happened, you want to kick yourself for not having a comeback.  The silence that followed was a little awkward (except for Ned, of course), but on we went to explore Charleston.  I have to say, historically, Ned knows his stuff, and the tour was something I would strongly suggest to anyone who visits there.  Ned even knows art.  He even knows to ask those deep artsy questions, like "What is art?"  (Okay, that was sarcasm.  Sorry.)  Did I mention that Ned sings?  Ned mentioned it.  Then, he busted out in a number from Porgy and Bess.  It was very...well...very Ned.  (Ned undoubtedly has his walls lined with his degrees of higher learning, but Ned has obviously not taken much time to worry about the Highest learning.  Education is wonderful, but when it's used in arrogance, it becomes a degraded, tasteless thing, instead of the tool for human good that God intended it to be.  We would all do well to remember that most people aren't concerned with what we know, but with whether we know they matter as much as we do.)
     But, all's well that ends well, and I honestly hated to see the tour end, but on to the rest of Charleston we went, and then back home to Dee's...to talk about...Ned.  To plot against Ned.  To discuss what we should have said to Ned.  To nickname him Drop Dead Ned.  Would we ever wish Ned harm?  No.  Would we really wish him dead?  Of course not!  Would we pay for the whole wagon next time and let Ned know what it's like to circle Charleston in a horse and buggy with six Hamilton women who have a score to settle?  You'd better believe it!  :)