Boats, Beer and Bobbing and Weaving

Bored and dying for the fun to start, Kate and I take a detour. It is her suggestion. She knows the way.

I am also convinced that any suggestion Kate makes is fraught with the potential for adventure. Life with her in the passenger seat is never dull.

So over the next few hours she ghost texts for me connecting to people we know in the area, we fly down roads I've never been on like the valedictorian of Bat Outta Hell Driving School, and try to let Priscilla know how very late we are going to be.

But that isn't to say we could not be earlier.

No, we decide to enjoy some fun of our own if we must detour all over God's green Earth on the way to DC. Thelma and Louise would be so proud. We had a ripping good time, no one got robbed and our car never once bombed toward the edge of a cliff (at least not that we were aware of...)

We stopped and joined a very cool and quite handsome man for an impromptu boat ride. We drank locally brewed bottles of beer and toured the Chesapeake, kicking off our shoes and letting the wind blow through our hair, which had begun to feel like a pair of bad wigs from the stifling office atmosphere. We docked and had some scrumptious food, downed another beer, laughed our heads off, took some hilarious pictures and reluctantly returned to the car to rejoin traffic. DC was almost less appealing by comparison.

I strapped on my Speed Racer helmet and Kate opened her bag of tricks.

No wine in her Mary Poppins's carpet bag today, but she did have a handy stash of rice crisps and some delicious hummus tucked in with her Daytimer and her Blackberry, which had heaved its last breath while we were still in front of her building. (Dang! Would you look at that...no one can reach me all weekend. Boo hoo.)

So as I jettisoned us toward DC with absolutely no sense of direction whatsoever, Kate scooped and shoveled mounds of hummus into each of our mouths and I careened and bobbed and weaved through jam after jam with expert precision (at least according to us). A container of hummus, a whole pack of crisps, and a million crumbs later, we screeched into the parking lot of our tony little Du Pont Circle hotel.

We both need to pee and Priscilla is pissed.