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What I Learned on My Summer Va-Cape-tion

Hey, everybody. Sorry I don’t have a lot of time to chat right now, but I’m writing this from a room in an inn on Cape Cod — the wife and I are down here for a wedding this weekend, getting some R&R at a B&B.

But, of course, even when we’re apart, I’m thinking of you, and so I thought I’d check in with a few things I’ve learned and observed this weekend:

First, we’re not really ‘Cape people’. This is our first trip to the peninsula-named-after-a-fish, and the word ‘haughty’ came up in coversation no less than three times in our first eight hours here.

Also, we’re staying the ‘Hydrangea Room’ at the bed ‘n’ breakfast joint we’re at. Now, I’m no expert, but apparently ‘hydrangea’ is a word meaning very, very small shower stall. See, the ‘hydra-‘ comes from the Latin word for ‘water’, and ‘-ngea’… well, um, is probably Greek or something, meaning ‘undetectable by the naked eye’.

Seriously, it’s one of those showers where, if you have soap in your hand, you’re washing something, guaranteed, because it’s going to be smooshed up against some part of your body or other, no matter which way you turn. Assuming you could turn in that shrunken phone booth of a space, which you can’t, really. I’ve been in iron maidens that were roomier than that shower stall. Sardines would complain about the elbow room. Or about not having elbows in the first place, but that’s really beside the point. I think you get the idea.

On an unrelated note, my wife and I had the following exchange last night:

Me: ‘Hey, who’s the guy from your office with the really big face?’

Her: ‘Oh, that’s Joe <Name-Changed-to-Protect-My-Wife’s-Job>’

See, if I said to most people, ‘Who’s that big-faced dude?‘, I’d get a blank stare, or a strange look, or maybe even a ‘tsk‘ or two. But from my wife — an answer. The right answer, even. Soulmates, we are.

(What that says about the state of our souls may be another matter, but I don’t really give a damn about that — just the fact that we’re squarely in the same boat is good enough for me, proverbial leaks and sharks and waterfalls be damned.)

Finally, I learned — or relearned, I suppose — that a three-hour-long open bar at a pre-wedding party full of strangers is a lot like a leprechaun with a switchblade knife. It’s magical, and can be rewarding, but it’s also very, very dangerous. And in either case, if you’re not careful, you’re likely to wake up with your pockets empty and the taste of clover and rotten potatoes in your mouth. You might also be feeling a little green, and praying that you’ll not be ‘kissing the blarney stone’ anytime soon. Blimey.

Anyway, that’s the story so far — there’s still a wedding and reception to get through, so who knows what other adventures we’ll have. Until then, I’m signing off from the Cape. Happy Sunday, all.