Barney and Flo

Bill and I have finally reconciled ourselves to the fact that we are going to spend our golden years living in Sun City. We’ve been fighting this unexpected state of forced retirement for five years now. We’ve railed against becoming house-bound by finding a wonderful Granny Nanny for Mom so we can enjoy a once-a-week date night and an occasional overnight to our Mexican dentist. We’ve refused to succumb to inactivity by walking five miles every morning, which has allowed us to lose weight instead of our minds. We’ve manage an occasional escape to keep cabin fever at bay by going to an afternoon movie or the outlet mall or the pottery shop or a local casino.

So what, you may ask, finally sealed the deal for us? What act brought us to the realization that we were here to stay? Simple. We bought a golf cart. OMG! I can’t believe it even when I see it in writing, not to mention in the garage.

And, to make matters worse, we performed a ritual that absolutely, positively ensured the inevitability of our future here in Heaven’s Waiting Room.

We named it Barney!

And why, you might inquire, did you name it Barney? Are we nostalgic about the Flintstones? Not particularly. Does the grillwork resemble Don Knotts? Not even close. Are we fans of Barney Frank? Lord no. Then why in the world would we pick that particular moniker? It’s perfectly logical. It’s because our golf cart is big and purple, and somewhat of a dinosaur, just like Barney. But, because it’s electric, it’s not loud and obnoxious and annoying like Barney.

Now Bill and the grand kids have a new toy to play with. He’s already decked Barney out with a hula dancing Flamingo (that we call Flo) and a snazzy instrument panel array. It has a compass so we know where we’ve been and what direction we need to go to get away from wherever we just were; a thermometer so we know that it’s not just really hot, but that it’s hot as Hell; and a clock so we know how much time it takes to go southeast when it’s 112 degrees outside.

Last week he purchased a small transistor radio and he’s Velcro’s it to the dash so we’ve got tunes when we motor around the neighborhood. Now he wants to Velcro our old GPS next to the radio so he knows how fast we’re going while we’re listening to oldies as we travel north by northwest at 1:23 in the afternoon during a triple-digit heatwave.

Barney 2    Flo 2



2 Comments on “Barney and Flo”

  1. Karen Riley says:

    Patt, love this! So humorously written that it honestly makes me wish I had a Barney and Flo. Wouldn’t be much use barreling down I-75 every weekday morn, though. But I can dream.

    • Patt says:

      Hi cuz. Our snowbird neighbors just got into town and Mel’s salivating over Barney but Bill’s not selling. It was love at first sight I’m afraid.

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