On Wednesday, September 8, my wife, Janet, and I and a couple of friends will be flying out of Huntington, West Virginia's Tri-State Airport for Las Vegas.  After picking up our rental car, we will check in at the luxurious Venetian Hotel for the night.  We will be staying in a 650-square-foot room with a sunken living room and a 350-square-foot marbled bath.  Will we laze along the indoor canal in one of its gondolas?  I don't know.  Then again, why not.  After all, we only pass this way once.  Where will we dine?  I'm not certain about that either, but I'm sure we will find something edible in one of The Venetian's eighteen restaurants.  I must admit that there's guilt dwelling inside me for staying at The Venetian, what with all the need throughout the world; however, my wife and I have worked hard for what we have, and we feel the need to live in the lap of luxury just this once.  That same evening we will attend the performance Cirque du Soliel.  I understand this is quite a show.  It should be.  The tickets were $125 apiece.  I'm positive it will be difficult hauling out of bed the next morning at The Venetian, but we must.  We will be heading out for a two-week driving tour of California and Oregon. 

     I wonder how we will be viewed by the people from that part of our country.  Will they think to themselves:  Oh no!  Here come the Beverly Hillbillies again!  I can't help but have a few hangups about my roots.  Everywhere we travel, people comment about the way we talk.  Last September, when Janet and I took a 12-day cruise to Hawaii, we stood in line to board the ship, and some lady commented, "Oh, please, say something else.  We just like to hear you talk."  Many, however, don't even know that West Virginia is a state.  They will ask, "Where are you from?" 

     "We're from West Virginia," I'll say.

     "Oh, I have a cousin who lives in Richmond."

     "No.  I said I'm from West Virginia.  Richmond is in Virginia."

     "And I have another cousin who lives in Norfolk," they will add, just as if I hadn't given any sort of explanation.

     "No. I said I'm from West Virginia," I'll say again. 

     "Well, it's all the same."

     "No, you're wrong about that.  You see:  there's North Carolina and South Carolina.  There's North Dakota and South Dakota.  And then there's Virginia and West Virginia.  I know my fifty states.  Where did you go to school?"  I laugh when I say it so as not to make them feel too bad about their ignorance over West Virginia being one of our fifty states.  Then, they just act sorta giddy and don't seem to know what to say next.

     Although Janet and I still live in the sticks, it's home.  We both graduated from college and retired from teaching.  Neither of us got rich by any stretch of the imagination, but we managed to raise and college-educate two sons and travel a little on the side.  We've learned throughout the years that people are pretty much the same all over the world--some a little more polished than others, but most are commoners, just like us.  So, if I embarrass myself by not knowing which fork to pick up first at The Venetian, then so be it.  My credit card works just the same as one hailing from a deluxe penthouse suite in the heart of Manhattan. 

     Once we return to West Virginia, I will give a full report about the trip.  In fact, I will keep track of how many times I had to explain that West Virginia is a state.  Wanna wager a bet as to how many? 

     P.S.  Janet and I didn't meet at a family reunion either.