|OYO Hotel in backwoods Virginia. Bring your own mints for the pillow.|
When we lived in Connecticut, I asked Mrs. B one night what she was planning for dinner.
That sounded great. Probably a Brazilian dish or maybe Mexican. I was famished and exhausted, having just completed a two- or three-hour workday and some daydreaming about a Springfield musket or a 100-pound artillery shell. So I started mulling what kind of wine I should have with this “oyo.”
So I finally ask her, "What's oyo?"
"On your own."
Oyo? Oh, no.
So on a recent Civil War adventure, this sign appeared in some godforsaken, backwoods Virginia town I refuse to name because it’s not polite. (Pssst: It’s Wytheville.) Wonder if you must supply your own mints for the pillows.
Oyo? Ho-ho. 😃