UPDATE! Holiday Date
Find out what happened on Carrie’s romantic weekend getaway.
A few weeks ago, I wrote about my excitement – and terror – over an upcoming romantic weekend getaway.
Well, friends, the big day finally arrived. And despite my fears, the weekend started brilliantly. Mostly because my date showed up. Also, the first words out of his mouth were used to compliment my shoes. There’s a lot to be said for starting the weekend on the right shoe.
Unfortunately, that’s also when the snafus began. I had packed as though I were heading for safari in equatorial Africa in the deepest days of summer. But the temperature in our getaway city barely inched about 55 degrees. The skies opened up in a nearly constant mist that did amazingly unattractive things to my hair. Compounding both of these weather hazards, we were cruising down the highway in a convertible – with the top down.
Have you ever seen a bowl of Quaker Instant Oatmeal after it’s sat unwashed for, I don’t know, seven days? Put that image on top of my head and you’ll have a perfect likeness of my hair last weekend.
Luckily when we finally arrived at the inn, I quickly forgot about that thing-formerly-known-as-my-hair. I was too busy admiring the lush grounds blossoming with spring petals. Our room was just as I had imagined: quaint, cozy and romantic.
It was also apparently infested with moths, ants and creepy 1,000-legged creatures.
Want to know how we discovered the “wildlife” playing house in our room? It went something like this:
Carrie: “What a lovely drive that was. I’m just going to take a shower and wash out the concrete statue of Medusa residing on top of my head.”
Date: “Excellent. Where would you like to have din-”
Carrie: “Ahhhhhhh!!!! Ahhhhhhhh!!!!! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”
Date: “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Carrie: “THERE’S A HUGE BUG WITH 5,000 LEGS!!!”
Date: “It’s probably just a little beetle or a- Ahhhhhhh!!!! Ahhhhhhhh!!!!! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”
Needless to say, we swiftly upgraded to a bigger, better, bug-free room.
I’m proud to say that we had only one additional meltdown during the entire weekend. And yes, it was kind of all my fault. Or, more accurately, the fault of the dragon monster who lives inside of me.
As we headed out to dinner on our last evening, I helpfully announced, “I don’t care where we eat as long as I can have a nice glass of wine.”
It had been a good three hours since my last glass at lunch and I didn’t want to take any chances.
My date picked a lovely restaurant, and I’d just curled up in the booth next to the wine menu, when our server approached to ask for our selections.
“Chardonnay for me,” I said.
“Are you sure?” my date asked, innocently. “This place has excellent Pinot Grigio.”
At this point, my hunger and exhaustion after an incredibly delightful weekend caught up to me. The dragon monster decided to come out for a romp.
“Fine,” the dragon screeched. “Why don’t you just pick my wine for me and my dinner for me and my clothes for me and my life for me?!?!”
When the server returned a few minutes later (she’d slunk off in the middle of the dragon monster’s speech), my date quietly ordered me a glass of Chardonnay.
I quickly apologized and he quickly apologized and in the end, the romantic weekend turned out perfectly. Because really, there’s no crying over spilled Chardonnay.
Read Carrie’s last blog post: Flip-Flop Fairy Tale