wedding tale, part 2
A Wedding Tale Part 2: Bruno and Francesca spy on the locals
It's hard to be inconspicuous when you are drivng a car that advertises your recent nuptials. Courtesy of my brother-in-law, the car was painted on all sides, on all windows. I think he did a great job in refraining from writing "sucker" instead of "his" on the right side of the car.
As we drove along the Northern State Parkway, most people waved to us or honked or yelled their congratulations. It was charming at first, then it got annoying as we were conducting an experiment in whether having sex while driving is any less dangerous than talking on a cell phone. Hey, someone has to do this research.
I kid you. Really, I do.
We pulled into Danford's in Port Jefferson at 3pm. A little too early to check in. So we left our bags with them and went into super secret spy mode. Bruno and Francesca had taken over the North Shore. I spit on the North Shore! We light cigarettes and stroll along the cobbled sidewalks, always on the lookout for double secret spies or international double crossers.
Yes. So. We ate. I had a seafood bisque served in a bowl made of bread. It was quite delicious.
We walked around the quaint little village for a while, looking in all the quaint shops and watching all the quaint village folk and learning about quaint village lore. It's a very artsy little town, with plenty of shops selling portraits of sea scapes and burly looking fishermen, shops with knick knacks and home made crafts, shops with freshly made chocolates and hand made jewelry. And, of course, the requisite Starbucks. Bruno and Francesca ordered frozen frappacinos, in our horribly fake accents, and we were not at all intimidated by the Starbucks-issue tweaked, snarly girl behind the counter.
We finally were able to check in to the hotel room and the first thing we did was look for hidden cameras. The second thing we did, I will leave to your imagination.
We had a beautiful room, with a balcony overlooking the Long Island sound. Boats and a ferry and small yachts came in and out of the harbor and seagulls and pigeons darted up and down, depositing their special brand of white poo everywhere. I swore it was a game to the birds, and they laughed every time they managed to hit an unsuspecting person with their goop. Yes, seagulls do laugh. They sound like The Joker.
We did the whole romantic thing, sitting outside and watching the sunset, holding hands as the ferry horn sounded and scared the crap out of us, comparing the endless water to our endless love, and clicking our rings together, Power Twins that we are.
We went to dinner at the hotel restaurant, a fine upper class establishment with appetizers that cost more than Martha Stewart's legal fees. We indulged. Shrimp served on a bed of polenta, drowning in a spicy barbecue glaze, and jumbo shrimp served on a bed of crushed ice drowning in a spicy cocktail sauce was our first course. Succulent, I believe, is the word I'm looking for.
We then had a main course of lobster tails and filet mignon covered in a brown roquefort sauce. Again, succulent. Incredible. I love food. For dessert I had a white chocolate pecan bread pudding in Southern Comfort sauce. We stared out the window next to our table for a while, holding hands and making up stories about where all the boats were headed.
We rolled ourselves out of there about an hour later, full and tired and twenty pounds heavier. We walked down to the shoreline, intending to maybe roll around on the beach for a while and get sand down our pants, but it was too rocky and we were disuaded by the teenage gang of rebels hanging around. Francesca and Bruno chided the teenagers for being jerks. They are brave, are they not? It was, however, Michele and Justin who ran back up to the hotel room when the teenage gang started to look menacing.
It's always odd for me to be away from home. I'm a homebody. I like my own bed, my own pillows, my own little world. We flipped channels for a while, realized they were showing Spiderman, then were put off by the twelve dollar price tag for the movie. So we went to into the bedroom, did another search for hidden cameras, waved at the ceiling just in case, and enjoyed our first honeymoon night. I was asleep by ten. Getting married is exhausting work. Pretending to be bumbling spies is even more tiring.
I woke early the next morning to catch the sunrise. It was beautiful, sitting on the balcony, sipping my weak hotel room coffee and watching the hills and early morning workers appear out of the darkness. Eventually, the shoreline of Connecticut made itself known off to the north and the sun made its magic display to my right, lighting up the trees and water and boats and the lone man making a mad getaway for shores unknown.
By 8am I had enough. I wanted to go home rather than stay the extra night. I woke Justin and he was totally agreeable to going home. We checked out (not before devouring the free breakfast) and decided to hit all the stores in the area that we could before heading home.
We ended up at a Target. There we are, on our honeymoon, shopping for the kids' back-to-school clothes at a Target. While we were shopping, the kids called on the cell from their hotel room in Virginia, where they are doing an historical vacation trip with my mother. I hope they like war reenactments as much as my mom does. It was good to hear from them. I missed them. Don't shake your head like that, I really did miss them.
We stopped off at a crappy little mall on the way and found a fantastic comic book/toy store, where we spent an hour just going through the graphic novels. we spent money, too. Lots of money.
On our way home, we made one more stop at a pet store to get some treats for the hamsters. Did I mention we put the frogs down the sewer before we left? No? That's another story.
Finally, home. We fell into our own bed, with our own pillows, beyond exhausted and totally spent. But happy. Oh, so happy.
And remember, next time you are strolling around a seemingly innocent tourist town, Franesca is watching you.
Next up, the tale of the Disc Jockey who must die, and the two bloggers who got tons of laughs out of my musical distress. And that will be it. I have political things that are itching to be ranted about.