[I kept a bit of a diary of our honeymoon 10 years ago. I think I will share it, sort of “as it happened”. There are 11 installments. Enjoy.]
I’ll let you guess where we have breakfast.
We return home and Sally goes back to the beach while I bring the diary up to date, read some e-mail, and call work to chat briefly with my department’s VP.
Sally comes back and we have lunch out of the doggie bags from last night’s escapade at Noodles. In the midst of lunch, a storm blows up from the south and, while we don’t get a lot of rain here by the beach, inland they take a bit of a pounding. The sky clears off to our west and suddenly the most beautiful full rainbow I’ve seen in years pops into view to the east. We have a perfect view of it from the condo’s lanai. It stays sharp and bright for nearly 20 minutes, and we can see both ends of it dropping into the trees out east. I snap a couple of pics with the digital camera that come out reasonably well, given the distance.
After lunch we take a LONG roundabout trip to Books-A-Million (Sally exchanges a book she bought that she realized she’d already read), Marshalls (to buy me a decent pair of slacks), Sunshine Ace Hardware (to buy extra keys for the condo), and Larry Bird’s house. Yes, I said Larry Bird’s house. Larry apparently frequents Noodles and our waiter told us he lives on Neapolitan Way. We don’t know exactly which house it is really, but we’re pretty sure that the one we decided on was it–first of all it had an SUV and a Ford pickup truck in the driveway, and secondly, it had Celtics-green shutters.
We then drive back to the condo and get ready for dinner. We have dinner at (surprise) Mel’s. Why? Because this is sirloin tips night and we both love sirloin tips. Then, slightly more well-dressed than we were last night (I even have shoes and socks on), we drive up to the Ritz for a nightcap. We choose the Lobby Lounge, where Jerry is playing the piano and sounds a lot better than the techno-disco going on in The Club. Our hostess Corrine serves us a mudslide (Sally) and a Beck’s Dark (me), and even brings Sally one of the new cocktail menus so she can take it home to add to the pile of menus and such that we already have as mementos of the trip. The drinks are a bit pricey but you can’t beat the ambience, at least not until several low-class louts enter the lobby and proceed to have a loud hail-fellow-well-met conversation over the really fine piano and string bass players. This, too, passes. I feel like a true Republican in the midst of all this opulence and am ready to go sneer at a few tree-huggers, impeach the President, and trade some stocks and bonds. I almost buy a fine cigar, but decide against it; after all, till I get to my toothbrush, I have to live with how my mouth tastes. We climb back into our gas-guzzling SUV and drive contentedly home to order the servants to start packing for our triumphal return to Indianapolis.
A "surly curmudgeon[], suspicious and lacking in altruism." (Robert A. Heinlein)