The Honeymoon- Part Whatever Thursday Was- Jeremy

Thursday found us waking up early to catch a bus to Calabash, North Carolina. Calabash is a small town in the Wilmington metro area that prides itself as the “Seafood Capital of the World,” because they have a lot of fried seafood buffet restaurants that we were warned about eating in. But, they have a pretty cool tour running. We boarded a small boat that followed closely behind a shrimping vessel. As the shrimping nets were lowered, a huge gaggle or school or pride or herd or whatever of dolphins started leaping out of the water, trying to score shrimp that slipped through the nets. It’s kind of like if there was a Jeremy sight-seeing tour, they would get a truck filled with Girl Scout cookies (mainly Samoas), and drive slowly, tossing a box or two in my direction. Then I’d jog… or, more likely, walk…. I don’t jog… after the truck, hoping to get more cookies. I like cookies.

We were pulling out of the dock when the radio station decided to play “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion. As Jess pointed out, that’s probably in the top three songs that you don’t want to hear as you’re about to sail into the Atlantic. (It’s also, coincidentally, in my top three songs that I never want to hear. Ever. Seafaring or not.) Luckily, we didn’t hit any icebergs. Or Chris DeBurghs. Or ladies in red.

We got back to the resort in plenty of time to do absolutely nothing, and then we went out for a while.

Jess wanted to go to a piano bar called Crocodile Rock.

It was a good time. Sort of.

Piano bars have their good side and the not so good side.

The good — there are four really talented musicians that play just about any song that you want to hear on the piano.

And they sell beer there.

The down side — I heard “Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison three different times, because three different people requested it played.

And, we were only in there for an hour or so.

It reminded me of this time when I was younger, and my sister and I put about two or three dollars in the jukebox, and played Milli Vanilli’s “Girl You Know It’s True” twelve or fifteen times. In a row. People hated us. We were only having fun.

Jessica’s Response to- The Honeymoon, Part IV

Rioz , the restaurant we went to, is a Brazilian churrascaria. I’m not sure what the exact Portuguese to English translation of the word is, but I’m pretty sure it’s something along the lines of “the most delicious food you’ve ever eaten, served to you in excess by Gauchos that tend to your every need.” I love food, and I certainly love Gauchos, so this place was a wet dream for me.

You’d have to eat there to know what kind of experience this place is, but everything about it was perfect. The setting, the service, the food, the awesome Caipirinha that was made in front of me by the traveling bartender, the Mango cream dessert. If we had a churrascaria in Delaware I would not only weigh 800 pounds, but I would be broke. The restaurant was by far our most expensive night out, but it was worth every penny. They had Hearts of Palm and scallops on their SALAD BAR! Gah!

Onward to the “reprimand” that I gave Jeremy in the restaurant. I understand that my dear husband adds a little flair into his tales for dramatic effect, but I’m kind of surprised that he chose to dedicate most of this recollection to me shushing him. I’m also surprised that he referred to my early evening excursion at Broadway at the Beach as “shopping,” because although I did technically buy things, they were all souvenir type items for our family members. ‘Cause, you know. SOMEONE had to do that.

He’d like you to think that I left him all alone, crying in his beer, on our honeymoon, while I emptied our bank account on shoes and pedicures. In reality, I was gone about a half hour, and I froze my ass off the entire time in a sleeveless top, capris, and flip flops when it was about 62 degrees outside. And I had to pee the entire time. That Caipirinha ran right through me!

Jeremy did get a little too excited over the game. Excited is good, and I was happy as well, but we were sitting at the bar at a very kvetched, family-oriented restaurant, and there were people all around us eating conch fritters and key lime pie, all of whom looked at him in gaped mouth disbelief when he screamed, and he did scream. So I thought I would gently remind him that we weren’t in a sports bar. Apparently, this was a huge deal, because not only did he write this post about it, but I overheard him telling his father about it on the phone as they were discussing game results.

It’s funny that he should remember a little “shush” in such great detail, and yet he still cannot remember when I ask him to vacuum the living room or clean his toothpaste out of the sink after brushing! Very suspicious.