We are not avid vacations. I am a homebody. Mr. Marvelous is a saver. Combined together, most weekends of our six years of marriage have found us content at home-me trying to find the perfect place for my latest Pottery Barn purchase and Mr. Marvelous
reviewing our checking account online questioning “you spent how much at Pottery Barn!??” praising my keen eye for coastal cottage style.
Our last official vacation just the two of us was three years ago. We went to Ocho Rios, Jamaica to celebrate the completion of my law review article, which took many long months to write. That was a much-needed vacation.
This winter we figured we could use another vacation. Destination unanimous-last Friday we set off for a long weekend in Charleston, South Carolina. A long weekend is just long enough for me to recharge my battery and develop the first hint of homesickness. After all,
my pottery barn sheets Fred Thomas misses me. See?
We set off for Charleston on Friday morning. It was a bitter cold 19 degrees and I was itching for some warm sea air. We arrived at the airport and elected for “economy parking” ($7/night) over “long-term parking” ($11/night). Economy Parking was so full we immediately deemed it “recession parking.” There was hardly a space to be had and it was only 7 o’clock in the morning. Speaking of 7 o’clock in the morning, Praise Jesus there is a Starbucks everywhere you turn in the airport. If there had been a Super Target, or say an Ikea, I might have abandoned the trip all together and elected to spend the weekend at the airport.
Sitting at the gate, waiting to board, the airline announced they would begin boarding “first class passengers.” You know how it goes. I looked at Mr. Marvelous and confessed that in 20 years they won’t be allowed to say “first class” anymore. It will be something like “front seat guests.” I found an odd comfort in being in one of the last places in America where (what some might call) political incorrectness is alive and well in all of its old-fashioned glory. Maybe I need to rethink my disinterest in travel- even though I myself, was relegated to coach class travel.
And so we were off. And sitting on the plane in all of my coach class glory, I couldn’t remember the last time I had four days alone with Mr. Marvelous-uninterrupted. I saw the sparkle in his blue eyes and the feeling of his hand in mind and then I knew it:
this was going to be good.