With just a scant week-and-a-bit remaining before Brad returned to the working world, the two of us commenced a sort of half-assed stay-cation in Brooklyn. In the morning, I would hurriedly bang out the day's advice column; in the afternoon, we wandered out of our apartment in search of adventure.
Sometimes, we found it.
Above: A ride at Coney Island.
Not pictured: My husband and I, a.k.a. two purported adults, clinging to each other in terror after foolishly opting to get into a "swingy" car on the landmark Wonder Wheel.
Also not pictured: The look on the face of the ride operator who turned to us and said, "Do you guys want to swing?", after which I guffawed so loudly that it scared a pigeon into flight. Suffice to say that I did not know it was possible for a person to roll his eyes so completely without actually removing them from his head and tossing them down the street.
But more often, it was just too goddamned hot for adventure, and so we would turn around to run back inside before our butts could turn into fleshy sweat swamps, and then we would watch old episodes of LOST and eat potato chips until one or both of us fell asleep.
Until, finally, it was time to get on a plane.
July 14th: Raleigh.
Because we had already visited my parents during Brad's hiatus from work, it was only fair that we also visit his for an equal period of time. Unfortunately, said visit involved a) getting on a plane, at b) La Guardia, which is c) an airport which seems to have achieved a special designation on the space-time continuum as "That Place Where Nothing Will Ever Go Right, and Also, Where You Will Inevitably End Up Drunk Before Noon." Our flight was delayed by several hours, during which I got tipsy at the airport bar and (unsuccessfully) attempted to photograph a bottle of rum which I swear was called "IOCANE".
Above: A close approximation of the face I made when Brad tried to tell me that what I thought was the letters "IO" was actually the number "10". Also, I am not sure I believe him -- even typed out here, they look almost totally the same. Inconceivable!Fortunately, the delayed flight meant that we were able to meet my in-laws upon landing and proceed immediately to a sprawling restaurant full of steaks, where all the light fixtures were made out of animal parts and dinner was eaten under the watchful eyes of several stuffed heads.
Above: "I use antlers in all of my deeeeeee-co-rating!"July 15th: Winston-Salem
My in-laws live on a farm in a rural area that borders the city of Winston-Salem, and this is where we spent the following day.
The most noteworthy part of this visit was probably the moment when, while playing scrabble and drinking wine with Brad's parents, a determined horsefly catapulted his giant, buzzing body over the bustline of my strapless sundress and lodged himself in my cleavage, where he proceeded to bite the crap out of my boobs. Yes, this is noteworthy. You cannot possibly imagine the minute angles, complex flight arc, and pure jolt of random bad luck which had to all coexist within the same split-second in order to make it possible for a horsefly -- which is an indescribably stupid creature even by insect standards -- to find its way into the scant indentation of my motherfucking A cups. I've played it over in my head since then and I'm pretty sure that the little bastard actually broke at least TEN UNBREAKABLE LAWS OF PHYSICS.
Also noteworthy: Despite the immense pain of being repeatedly bitten on the tit by a physics-defying horsefly, I somehow managed to stand up, walk three steps, and face AWAY from my father-in-law before yanking my dress down around my waist while screaming extremely loudly.
Not pictured: Any of that, and for good goddamn reason.
July 16th: Kiawah.
The morning of July 16th, we rented a car and drove the 300 miles from Winston to Kiawah Island in South Carolina, where a group of Brad's friends had gathered to celebrate the wedding of a friend who'd gotten married overseas this spring. We stopped only once to pee... and of course, to purchase a six-pack of SMIRNOFF ICE.
Scene: A grocery checkout counter just outside of Charleston.
Teenage Checkout Girl: (brandishing Ice) Can I see some I.D. for this?
Me: (handing over license) Sure.
Other Guy In Line: Hahaha! That's funny, because you two look like you're exactly the same age!
Justifiably Enraged Teenage Checkout Girl: Um, she's more than ten years older than me. And I'm not even old enough to drink.
Impossibly Dense Guy: HA HA HA! That's even FUNNIER!
Me: If it makes you feel any better, a horsefly nearly chewed off my right boob yesterday.
Above: Beautiful Kiawah, as seen from the seat of the dorkiest bike in the world.
Not pictured: The dorkiest bike in the world.
Above: Icing in silhouette.
Above: Brad and I, looking (if I do say so myself) like a pair of daaaaamn fine party-going specimens.
Not pictured: Anything else, because that is the end. Also, because I am tired and need to go put on deodorant.
And that just about catches us up, y'all. Thank you, and goodnight. And I promise, my next post will not be a whole month coming.
At least, I really, really hope not.
