My cousins and I were sitting around, chatting, when the subject of Napolean Dynamite was broached… 

Me:  Egads!  Like it wasn’t bad enough that we’re known for potatoes, now we’re known for the likes of Napolean Dynamite.  I traveled all the way to Denmark and that’s all a guy could say, ‘Idaho – isn’t that where Napolean Dynamite is from?’  Sigh.

Mags:  Yeah, well we’re known as the land of balloon boy.

Hay:  I’ve got you all beat – Forks. 

Who knew she lived so close to Forks?  Certainly not I.  And apparently, the only thing worse than hordes of Twilight fans mid-pilgrimage, is having to take your husband to a doctor in Forks to have a hook removed from his calf.  My cousin, being a nurse, would have rather gone elsewhere; but seeing how her husband’s ankle was numb, it was a bit of an emergency. 

The doctor came in, took a look, and applied a local anesthetic.  The nurse asked what tool he wanted.  He glanced over at her display of carefully organized, STERILE instruments.  No … actually … I want some pliers.  Oh, you read it right.  The poor nurse stared blankly for a moment before mumbling, Okay, I’ll check with maintenance.  She came back with a grip and a needle-nose.  The doctor made an incision, took the pliers and yanked. 

True story.

We sat there, stunned.  It’s like the Twilight Zone, I said.  Yes, my cousin answered, that’s exactly what it is.