So, went to Myrtle Beach (that's in South Carolina for you poor sods who don't know), which is a wonderful, wonderful place with an enormous WalMart, the best food you'll ever eat, and where my granddad lives. I love my granddad to pieces.
It wasn't the being in Myrtle Beach that was the issue--it was driving there and back.
In Virginia (which I am beginning to hate the same way I used to hate Pennsylvania), we ran over a median. Which I would be less pissed off about, except it sprang up out of nowhere, sixteen inches wide from conception, and it was the same color as the road. We popped our tire, my mother had a nervous breakdown, and we ended up in a hotel in Richmond two blocks from the Hyundai store. Who, apparently, don't get tires on Saturdays. So it's down to the tire store three blocks from the Hyundai store for a new tire.
On the plus side, it was done in forty-five minutes.
Then, coming back, we got lost. It's tradition, really. Any time my mother is driving us out of there, we get lost. At least this time it was only for a few minutes, instead of the TWO HOURS it was last year.
But, I'm back now, so we made it home, at least.
Really wish we were back there.