Recommended wine for today’s entry: Blackstone Winery Pinot Grigio. This is what I had last night at Allan and Racheal’s. It’s very light and smooth and tasty and great for watching people watchers.
Well, I’m sure that my four loyal readers were bitterly disappointed yesterday, when they poured a glass of … oh, no! You didn’t even know what to pour! And then you had NOTHING to read. Well, I hope you all just went to bed early. I was in transit for most of yesterday, flying from Kentucky to Connecticut. That’s kinda like time travel from the Flinstones to the Jetsons, but that’s not what I want to tell you about today.
First, I am pleased to report that no one’s ear ruptured and no one vomited on the plane. One child spilled olive oil on her only pair of jeans and the other one fell asleep with a red ink pen on her leg, which left a giant round circle, similar to a bullet hole, on her only pair of jeans. But no one cried. Cussed, yes, cried no. And we spent most of the second leg of our flight making fun of a 10-year-old that was more androgynous than Pat on Saturday Night Live.
I was very worried that I wouldn’t know how to log in remotely, but fortunately, with assistance, I can. I was worried because there was a cute little family — a doting mom and her two tots — at the Cleveland airport and I REALLY wanted to make fun of them. So now I can.
This was one of those moms, you know the type, who wants to show off how brilliant her little tykes are. At the top of her lungs, in a crowded gate at the airport, she decided to show us just how smart little Chloe and Cooper are. Playing games like “what are the numbers?” and “name the animals and their sounds.” I don’t have a problem with teaching kids these things, mind you, but I was trying to read a book that was way too difficult for me anyway, and the distraction was … quite frankly, distracting. And then maddening. Finally, my 19-year-old said, even louder than doting mom, “I know even more numbers than that!” and proceeded to like spew equations. But it still didn’t shut doting mom up; she just switched to Name the Animals. After who-o-o-o-ing like an owl for God knows how long, little Chloe started naming animals. Her list included ducks, sheep, ladybugs and ham.
At this point, my lovely little daughter laughed and said, not under her breath, “guess she’s not as smart as you thought, huh?”
Luckily we boarded the plane then. And, given the weather we came through, we were thankful that it was a much larger plane than the converted Dodge Durango we had from Louisville to Cleveland.
Now we are staying with some of my in-laws in a house they rented on the beach. (They live in Florida most of the year.) Anyway, before we got here they told us that there is a walkway along the beach and that people just look in the windows all day and night. I, believing that one would walk on the beach to actually experience the beach, didn’t believe them.
I should have. Picture this: Moving in order from outside in, you have Long Island Sound, a beach, a wooden walkway running parallel to the beach, small grassy yard, house. If you were walking along the path, wouldn’t you look out at the water? Well, I would, too, but every single person that goes by just stares into the houses. As I was sipping my coffee this morning, a little boy on a Big Wheel went by, trailed by a normal-looking man and then a guy who must have been on our plane from Kentucky. They have hicks in Connecticut! I was giddy. All this guy needed was a coonskin cap. He already had a mullet and a beer gut. And maybe a sawed-off shotgun in his britches.
And he was staring in the window at us.
I am planning to (tomorrow, just before we leave) stand in the sliding doors and yank my shirt up when a group of gawkers traipses by. Then, because I know that when I pull up my shirt it is a bitter disappointment — I know this because that is what my husband says if I don’t turn around when changing clothes — I will open the sliding door and yell, “HELL, I RECKON THAT AIN’T WHAT YOU FOLKS WAS HOPIN’ TO SEE, NOW, IS IT?”
I just feel like it will make these nice folks aware of the fact that they are being rude. They’ll blush, stammer, “Oh, m’am, I’m so very sorry, I didn’t realize I was looking in your windows.” Then they’ll stide away rapidly. Except maybe the guy with the sawed-off shotgun. So if this plan backfires, one of my children, who are total geniuses and know that a pig is an animal and a ham is food, will take over this lovely blog.