It was something we'd talked about for a few years, but I never could get myself to pull the trigger because I'm not a big fan of the idea of going to the mountains in the winter.

But due to various things happening, we did indeed find ourselves spending a couple of days in Pigeon Forge as the days get shorter and cold weather is threatening to scream in at any moment.
We got lucky as the abnormally warm November weather stayed steady throughout the weekend and we were finally able to see all the lights that festoon the mountain tourist town during the late fall and winter.

Things were going good until my wife made a desperate attempt to abscond with a product from one of those "As Seen on TV" stores. She grabbed a vinyl repair kit off the shelf (we have a ripped car seat) and a few minutes later she walked right out the door without even bothering to look in the direction of the cashier.

Now, she will tell you that she immediately went back in and paid for the kit. But I was there and know what really happened. At first she laughed maniacally, claiming she had put one over on "the man," and that I could call her Bonnie and she'd call me Clyde. Then she said if all the stores were this easy, we'd have that backwoods vacation town cleaned out in no time.
Being the voice of reason, as I usually am, I told her no, that we couldn't do that and she needed to march back in there, apologize for what she had done and pay for the kit. Sometimes you just have to lay down the law.

Of course, that wasn't the only time my wife attempted to warp the fabric of reality while we were up there. I was looking through a bunch of shirts at one store, commenting that I couldn't believe all they had was the "dad blamed New York Yankees," to which she replied, "They've probably got so many of them because they just won the Super Bowl."

That wasn't the only sports insult I suffered over the weekend. I was sporting a UT jacket, having forgotten they were even playing Saturday, when somebody in a car rode by and yelled, "Blah, blah, blah, orange and white stink, ha, ha, ha, blah blah, blah." That's what it sounded like anyway. I was not aware of what had happened until we got back to the hotel room and I turned on ESPN.
As you go down the parkway in Pigeon Forge, the 12 days of Christmas, in light form, run the length of the town, from a partridge in a pear tree to 12 drummers drumming, or however that song goes. As we were walking, the wife called somebody on the phone and told them, "Yeah, they've got the 12 days down through here in the media between the roads."

I immediately looked for reporters with notebooks and cameras, but didn't see any.
And then there was the Mongolian girl who tried to sell us some jewelry in badly broken, yet clear English. We were coming out of the Marble Slab where we had just paid $15 for what amounted to two bowls of ice cream.

I was still reeling from this when a girl claiming she was from Mongolia came up and told us a story of how she was studying in the U.S. but needed money to keep going.
I didn't say a word. I was still stunned over paying $15 for two bowls of ice cream, but my wife dipped into her experience of dealing with people who don't get their papers and gently led the girl away from our table. They discussed the Yankees' chances in next year's Super Bowl, then the girl was gone.

Was she telling the truth? Who knows, but a guy in a van (I guess he was from Mongolia too; keep in my mind, my only experience with a Mongolian person was the old wrestler "The Mongolian Stomper") kept driving in and out of the parking lot until she got in and left with him.
Was the trip worth it? Sure, the lights were pretty and the weather, even at night, was very mild and pleasant. It was crowded beyond belief and we had a heck of a time getting out of town Sunday morning. But I'd recommend it.

Just watch out for Mongolian girls selling jewelry.

michael.thomason@advocateanddemocrat.com | 442-4575