A Weekend Away

This past weekend, my husband and I decided to take a little vacation. We dropped our daughter off with her grandparents and headed an hour and a half west to Gainesville, Florida. This was actually supposed to be our three year anniversary trip, but with our actual anniversary falling so close to the holidays, it was easier to wait until now to go. Our original destination was going to be Savannah, however, with the housing slump and my husband being in the residential construction biz, we opted for Gainesville, where his parents still own his college apartment (i.e., a free place to stay.) Luckily, the place has had an overhaul since its use as a college bachelor pad. A description of its previous condition would require a completely new post altogether, so I will not even attempt to go there. (However, if you were at my wedding, you were privy to a lovely sampling by my now brother-in-law during his best man speech.)

Anyway, the drive west is always fun around 5:30 in the afternoon. And as we neared the University of Florida, and while we were driving along the main road through downtown Gainesville, a group of about 100 homeless people on bicycles, or I don't know, maybe they were fine arts majors, were headed east toward a less desirable part of town. Out of nowhere, my husband turns to me and says, "do you think they are all headed to the woods for a group orgy?" My first thought was, whoa, what kind of weirdo did I marry? He has definitely seen way too many Stanley Kubrik films, but what I actually said was, "You know, hun? That's exactly what I was thinking when I saw 100 bicyclists headed toward Waldo, FL: they must be going to the woods for group sex!! Amazing how we are always on the same page! See, we are soulmates. I love you!"

So, my husband and I, if you haven't already guessed, both graduated from the University of Florida. And it never fails, each time we decide to visit our old haunts, the question always arises (usually from me) as to whether other people around us (usually students or waitstaff) think we are just another pair of college kids. Or do they view us as the pathetic old couple trying to relive their younger years by invading their hip nightspots. And it was only after we made the decisions to skip the 65 minute wait at Outback (average patron age: 20) at 9pm for an immediate table at Stonewood Grill (average patron age: 40), and opted for a mid-day coffee and bagel break at the nearly-dead Atlanta Bread Company (average patron age:35) instead of the so-packed-you-can't-even-find-a-parking-spot-on-the-grass Starbucks (average patron age: 19) that we realized which couple we ultimately were.

On Saturday night, we dined at the Melting Pot, where we found ourselves complaining about the service, the lack of a full bar, and the limited per-glass wine options. Yep, we reminded ourselves of our parents....scary. And, outside a Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest, who knew it was humanly possible to consume 5000 calories in just one meal? My husband nicknamed the place "The Gluttony Pot," which didn't rhyme, but was far more fitting than, say, "The Svelting Pot." I had mistakenly worn my "skinny jeans" (in an unsuccessful attempt to appear more college-aged) which I finally fit in for the first time since October, but after that night of overindulgence, will probably not fit in again until after a few more months of daily intense cardio training. I hurriedly loosened the top button of my jeans as soon as we got to the car. Thinking that it would be in poor taste to actually do so in the restaurant, I prayed that the thing wouldn't burst from its delicate stitching like a missile and kill an unsuspecting patron, or less worse, permanently imprint the word "BEBE" on our poor waitress, and even less worse, land in someone else's fondue pot, after being dunked in poppyseed batter, and ending up choking the poor sap who had mistakened it for a deep-fried, green-goddess-sauce-filled, mushroom cap!

But other than that, I enjoyed our brief brush with irresponsibility, as I slept until 10 each morning and took pleasure in having more than just one or two alcoholic beverages in the evening. We didn't make our bed, or hang up clothes, or put our dishes away in the dishwasher, or wipe down the bathroom counters. We left toothpaste spittle in the sink, and food crumbs on the coffee table, too. Yes, after a weekend in Gainesville, I truly knew what it was like to be my husband.