We went hiking this weekend. At least according to the book we got it was hiking. Turns out Nick was right. Putting on shoes and walking out into something that is 92% wilderness constitutes hiking so I have had to readjust my definition of the term. We went out to Cypress Gardens. There was about a roughly 3 mile loop hike, the ability to borrow flat bottom boats to take out on the swamp, and there we several little educational facilities around the visitors center. I loved it. I had so much fun. It was a great little hike to cut our teeth on and I am ready for more. If you haven't been over to my photo blog this week you can see some pics of the swamp there.
But really, I have a better story than that. Last Wednesday, thanks to Groupon, I was able to score a one-night stay at the Woodlands Inn. It is the only 5 star hotel in South Carolina. It is fancy to the point of absurdity. We choose to use our stay this past Friday. Allow me paint you a picture of Nick and I arriving at this converted, old, southern, previously owned by a rail road tycoon, mansion. We pass the keys to the Mini off to the valet then shove aside all our self reliance and hand the bellman our back packs. Not luggage, back packs. The giant kind that are designed for shoving several weeks t-shirts and underwear in so you can traipse all around Europe, or Australia, or Asia and have no qualms about then using it as a pillow on a train car or tossing it on the inevitably once urine/vomit soaked floor of a hostel. It was these back packs that we handed to the bellman. We don't know how to travel any other way. Oh yes, friends, we were so out of place.
I had also made reservations for their dining room that evening and within 5 minutes I immediately regretted the conversation Nick and I had that lead us to the decision that dressing up for dinner surely isn't an issue. We needed to be comfortable because we planned on eating a grotesque amount of food. So we show up in jeans, nice shoes, nice tops. I mean hell, if we could hypothetically meet the dress code for the bars in down town San Diego then we had to be okay, right? Oh no. No we weren't. While we weren't turned away from the dining room, we were the most underdressed people there.
Whatever. We were there to eat.
Then shortly before our 3rd course arrived Nick kicked me under the table and very urgently gave me this awesome married-person telepathy message of, "Holy shit, you need to turn around and take this in RIGHT NOW."
Nick had a direct view of the little hall that lead to the restrooms and there, in the door frame, braced for dear life, is one very drunk girl in a Pepto Bismol pink chiffon gown. Her poor date, whose evening just clearly wasn't turning out as he planned, retrieved her and brought her back to the table.
When we approached course number 4 I am pretty sure this girl had spilled something. Then, when we reached course number 6 it was time for them to leave. At this point this girl is still very drunk and now truly belligerent to boot. Her date tries to discreetly help her out of her chair and escort her out of the dining room. She is having none of that. Which turned out to be a poor decision.
While trying to tackle the two steps leading out of the dining rooms, she fell. And not the way a person falls while sober; quick and loud. This was the drunk person 20 point fall. The one where they look like a pinball bouncing around in a machine filled with jello. I soon get to embarrassed to watch and look back at my husband who I expect to be red faced and staring at his food because he is very prone to embarrassment by proxy. Instead, he is staring wide eyed and unabashedly. Without averting his gaze he says, "Erika, you need to watch this. This is something you will never see again." I understood what he meant. It was a moment that belonged in a movie where, perhaps Steve Carrell plays the well meaning date and Anna Faris plays the unfortunate drunk girl. I mean, the setting, the costumes, the dialogue that was going back and forth between these two; it was almost artful.
I think it goes without saying, after that, we suddenly didn't feel so bad for wearing denim into the dining room.