We journeyed to the Ripley's Museum for an hour or so. The pictures I took are too huge for this laptop to allow me to edit, but I'll post them next week. I petted a horseshoe crab. Whoo.
The hotel owns a bar next door that offers free buffet on Monday nights. We availed ourselves. We availed a bit early though and had to kill 90 minutes before the spread was unveiled. That's why we packed our chessboard, and Your Sis and I went head-to-redhead for a surprisingly long game. She's deliberate (read: oh-so-slow) and till withered before a masterful checkmate. Then we gorged on Southern cooking.
I also went head-to-Cromagnon head with the bartender over Mom's drink. She can't have alcohol, and I ordered her a virgin daquiri. The barkeep made a real one. We didn't notice until I checked the receipt and repeated my order. He claims I didn't specify. After some manly growling, we truced our way to the right order. We three called it an early night, and Your Sis and I just returned from walking the night surf.
It was a light day. We're trying not to burn. The plan is to sign up for a surfing class for Wednesday morning at 9 in Myrtle Beach. As Your Sis is planning it, I have no further details. Call her if you can be-bop down.
Mom insisted on buying me 'sand shoes' after watching me empty out my old Converses. And so I am newly shorn. No, wait. Shod. Newly shod. Your Sis says I now look like I'm on a vacation. My Hobbit feet apparently sing with relaxation. And Red Stripe beer.
I'm typing this in front of a desk mirror, and I agree with her: I do look relaxed. Younger even. I look like I'm up to something.
Letters to Holly
1 comment:
glad to hear that you are enjoying yourselves.
i won't be able to join you all, unfortunately, but I hope you have a fantastic time.
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