Williamsburg

Yeah ok, so here’s the Williamsburg story. Yes, way, way late. Whatever, I got lazy; really, what do you expect?

April and I have been what some would call ‘penpals’ for several years now. She’s one of those California girls, with hair the color of gold and gorgeous, but she’s funny, too, and those aren’t traits you usually see together. So when she started planning a trip to fly to the east coast for a friend’s wedding, we decided to finally meet. She chose Williamsburg because of the rich history (who’d have known), and I went along because I wanted to meet her and also because of the outlets (duh).

Finally the day came, and I packed my bag and jumped in the car, leaving poor Hubbin to care for the girls, which is totally not foreign to him, but The Little One was sick and she is a MISERABLE sick person, but he kissed me goodbye and sent me on my way to go drive 4 hours to stay at a Bed & Breakfast with this blonde chick. He’s cool.

I got there and drove around Williamsburg until I found P6, where I parked and walked down the sidewalk until I met her. She was easy to spot in a crowd; it was 56 degrees and she was dressed in six layers and a parka that could have warmed a troop of 10. Ok, not really, but she was wearing 3 layers, including long johns.

April has this thing with tigers (it’s a long story, suffice to say it’s the official mark of a creep, and as a single LA girl, she sees them a lot), so we laughed as we saw these:

We walked and shopped, and we tried to tour Williamsburg but it was $24.95 and only open for another hour. I feigned disappointment (not well), and we decided to check in to the B&B that she’d researched. It was nice! It was A Williamsburg White House, decorated beautifully with architectural details and a fast-talking host. I remembered that April had asked me a few weeks ago on the phone if everyone in the South talked fast. After I stopped laughing my butt off, I realized she was serious.

No, we aren’t known for our verbal speed.

I realized what she meant when we checked in. The B&B host was from Rhode Island, and I understood not a word he said as I looked through the Kennedy Room. As I gazed at framed articles and books everywhere, rich with American history, my gaze settled upon this:

Wait…is that….Elvis? And Clinton? And Jodi Picoult? What in the …

Anyway, up to our room. Thanks to zoning laws, we didn’t have a room with a separate thermostat, and while the host let us know that it can get a bit warm, we were fine with that. It takes a lot for me to be hot, and the room felt great. We dropped our stuff, relaxed, and then she posted this:

…with the tag line “Time to consummate this relationship”. Oh jeez…I laughed and thought that would be the end of the embarrassing tagged photos.

I was wrong.

We enjoyed the happy hour the B&B provided, as I jumped at each opportunity to talk about my husband and kids so people didn’t think April and I were a couple. I’m pretty sure they didn’t buy it, because she caught on and started making inappropriate eyebrows at me and winking before calling me her beard, and then asking one of patrons to take this photo:

In retrospect, this probably didn’t dissuade any suspicions…

We talked so long about dinner it ended up being too late to go, so we went to a place close by that was so good, I made gross faces and she took pictures to post in the morning when I would be too busy groaning to pay attention to Facebook.

We went back and I filled out the breakfast request after getting a pen from her. This pen, actually:

Excuse me, but I mustache you a question…

We fell asleep, for the moment. I woke up in a pool of sweat several times through the night. At one point, it was so hot that I laid in the floor under the fan and opened all the windows, even though it was 20 degrees out. The thermostat was broken and the room reached no less than 90 degrees because the heat wouldn’t turn off. It was disgustingly hot, and by morning, I was feeling pretty worse for the wear, as the heat added to what must have been an allergic reaction to the wine I’d had the night before. We trudged down for breakfast looking like hot messes, and everyone else was perfectly dressed and not green at all. The old couple there asked if we were college students and I replied that we were just slobs.

And then breakfast started, and it was by far the most delicious and bizarre meal either of us had ever had.

But that, my readers, deserves its own post.

To be continued…