I made ominous noises about “wanting to go to the coast” before I departed overseas. I caught break. Weather’s been miserable, or lovely, depends on point-of-view. Clouds and rain. Dampens one’s spirit for a coastal adventure. But does bring about a longing for a soak in a tropical sun, fresh seafood, and sand between the toes.
I called “A Laughing Horse Lodge”, based on Bubba’s recommendation, and I secured a room for two pre-4th-weekend nights.
Leave Wednesday, come back Friday, get on the plane for London, Saturday morning. Hopefully, nursing a good sunburn.
Sounds like a plan.
Sounds like a really good plan when looking at the local version of a “frog strangler” coming down. Get me some (metaphorical) boat drinks.
The other big, nasty problem is packing wardrobe. I was ambling back from the edge of the river – some surprise here: fishing pole in hand – and the Pisces neighbor, the one making the ruckus on Saturday night? He was forlornly looking over class notes. I mentioned that his noise had rudely awakened me, and he scowled, looked shamefaced, and then looked up at my smile.
“Dude, do I look like I’m worried about it?” I asked.
“No, I guess not. Kramer, do you ever wear a shirt?”
Which comes back to the packing and wardrobe question. Which is punctuated by Bubba, in typical fashion, hollering out the window of the truck, at person going into a gay bar, this happened some years back, “Hello! It’s not Easter yet! White jeans?”
I seriously doubt that most of the folks I encounter in London or Paris would know the differenced between a straw and a black felt (cowboy hat) or that straw is the required attire in the summer months. As I perused the weather, I kept thinking, “Felt looks better, 5X Beaver, handmade in Ft. Worth.”
Then I realized that I sorely missing one piece of attire, a very necessary item: black yoke-cut, sport coat. Which necessitated, in the pouring rain, a quick dash to the department store. Additional travel expense, but I must look good, as it’s been years since I was last in Paris. Either one.
I asked my Aquarius friend, Peg, over dinner. At Romeo’s. Which, although maybe it’s a romantic place and all, Peg never believes any of my romantic overtures. Probably just as well.
Considering her recent travel experiences, and the fact that she is, indeed, a seasoned world-traveler, I posed the wardrobe question to her, “Straw or 5X Beaver?”
She was of the opinion that it was going to be hot and I’d probably prefer the straw. But the black felt with its sharp, 4-inch brim looks better, to me.
How much of a slave to fashion will I be?
