VACATION ODYSSEY, PART II: Cape Cod, here we come! More gin.

Well. Part II has been a long time coming, and I’m sorry about that. Promises, promises. But I’VE BEEN A LITTLE BUSY, PEOPLE, what with dragging a dozen reusable Publix bags and an enormous dog all up the East Coast in a tiny clown car. I didn’t even mention the kids because at this point they’re like an appendage. An appendage infected by a chronic, itchy, irritating rash.

So. After the discovery of a coconut head that eerily resembled Hot Firefighter Husband, an air of general hilarity ensued, and it seemed natural to sweeten that air with alcoholic beverages. Which was great! Except that our Hostess/Mostess insisted on making all my drinks. Note to self: don’t let former bartenders mix my drinks. They were deliciously potent. By the time Hostess/Mostess’ husband arrived home, like, 20 minutes later, I wisely told him that I would be getting a little drunk that night.

And I was right! The evening ended after a baffling exchange between me and myself about the words mediator and mitigator, which I may or may not have been mispronouncing. Then I went to sleep. But apparently the gin had other ideas. It simmered in my belly for several hours, then began yearning for freedom, which resulted in BADDABADDABADDABADDA no further information is available at this time.

Husband let me sleep waaaay in the next morning, mainly because I couldn’t move anyway. For real. My head needed to be totally immobilized. But I had to rally, because that night the Hostess/Mostess couple and Hot Firefighter Husband and me drove into NEW YORK CITY. I even showered and wore a new dress, and had saved a new pair of Fit Flops so they would look fancy. We dined at Nougatin, a Jean Georges restaurant, and ate godlike food including peekytoe crab, cucumber soup, and red snapper. YUM. Gluten may have been involved. Don’t tell the boy.

Then we strolled down to Broadway, where we were scheduled to see Nathan Lane in The Nance. We were all very excited about this, because who doesn’t love Nathan Lane? And he delivered. That man was brilliant. For the first 20 minutes. Then he apparently injured himself on the revolving set and bowed out for the rest of the evening, leaving his understudy to play the lead role. Way to go, Stephen Whatsyername!

But….um…..What the Nance, Nathan? With you, we had a brilliant, sardonic, eccentric, gay guy being played by a brilliant, sardonic, eccentric, gay guy. When the role’s being played by a mere actor, it sort of loses its punch. What if Stephen Whatsyername isn’t even gay? I immediately Tweeted about the incident and started a rumor that Lane had stepped down after pulling his hamstring after excessively celebrating National Tequila Day. That was just me being bitter. But our disappointment was very nearly MITIGATED by the enthusiasm with which we tackled the rumor-mongering. Sorry for that, Nathan. But guess what! We forgive you now!

In other news, the trip upward to the Cape was marred by Connecticut traffic, which is like a black concrete hole filled with nice shiny cars and well-groomed people talking to themselves because they are banned from holding cell phones while driving. We ended up in Greenwich, a beautiful little town where you can stroll along sipping a latte while shopping for Stuart Weitzman shoes. I can certainly understand why billionaires would want to live there. I personally could never reside in one of those mansions, although the idea of my kids’ bedrooms being a good quarter-mile away from mine is slightly enticing, and might even allow a married couple with young children to resume having a sex life.

We decided to buy lunch at the Whole Foods there, and were so proud of ourselves for budget-crunching instead of eating out. Our Whole Foods grocery store lunch only cost us $80! And that included cookies.

Finally, though, here we are on Cape Cod, where we’re staying with our dear friends who have a chicken coop and a wildflower garden in the backyard. Fresh eggs! Fresh flowers! Crowing roosters! Gin! That’s how we’re rolling, peeps. And get this: Buddy the Wonder Dog does not chase chickens. BOO-yah!

(Good dog.)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *