Alas, I am as vulnerable to living with stereotypes as the next person. When I landed in Wilmington, N.C., I expected the airport bathrooms to have posted signs ordering transgendered persons to use the bathroom consistent with the gender on their birth certificates. Nope.

In the Pilot House I expected the server to call me darlin’ and refer to the four of us as y’all. Nope. She did have tattoos and spiky hair.

Along the road to Phyllis and Art’s I expected to see deliverance churches every hundred feet or so aka Flannery O’Connor’ short stories. If they were there, we drove at night and it was too dark to see.

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