Back in 1986, my twin brother Bob broke up with his wife, Verna. I only heard one side of the story, so circumstances of the schism remain unverified.

They had one child, a little dumplin’ named Robyne.

She and I have been Facebook friends for a couple of years now, but as Diane and I are in South Carolina now — and that’s where Charleston and Robyne are — Di and I finally took a trip down to the Low Country to see the niece I haven’t seen since she was a bald-headed little diaper pooper.

(I don’t say that disparagingly. With my advancing Parkinson’s disease, I am likely to be a bald-headed BIG diaper pooper sooner than later.)

We met at a place called Page’s Okra Grill in Summerville. I figured there would be something on the menu other than okra… and there was. They also had grits and shrimp. That’s what Robyne ordered. I tried not to look directly at her entree because the bowl was full of grits and shrimp. Shrimp is OK. But not with grits.

Nothing is good with grits, and the North won the Civil War, so that proves my point.

Diane ordered the fried chicken, specifying dark meat. The chicken arrived, fried as it should have been, but whiter that the crowd at a Donald Trump rally. She sent it back, of course, and when the manager delivered the dark meat, I suspect she threw in an extra drumstick by way of apology.

Diane also had the sweet potato souffle, which to me looked like a cat ate it first. But that’s just me.

I had the southern fried pork chops, which were servicable but thin and just about as tasty as I could get from my own stove with a box of Oven Fry. Speaking of fried things, the French fries were hard and crunchy. But the mac and cheese?

I would trade nuclear secrets for the mac and cheese.

Robyne impressed me as a fine, solid, robust young woman. She has the Schmalfeldt sardonic sarcastic sensibility that our family is known for. Great sense of humor. From her appearance, attitude and the way she carried herself, it was clear she was hit real hard by the Schmalfeldt genetic stick.

Found out she has two sons from a prior relationships, so there ya go. Two branches on the family tree I knew nothing about previously.

Robyne lives with her Mom, who — I am delighted to say — remarried, having a happy and loving relationship with him (also named Robert, because, why not?) before he passed from cancer.

I remarked, “Betcha your mom is thrilled that you’re meeting me.”

“Oh, she LIKES you,” Robyne said.

Actually, I’m quite happy about that. Maybe next time we go down there, we can take Mom to lunch, too!