So we arrive to visit the brother in law and his wife (hence forth known as the russian) to their new house. There is no tour, no how are you, its right to sitting down and eating lunch. Lunch consists of dill chicken (OK so far), salad with vegetables in it (ok, except much of the vegetables were turning brown) and loose dill in the salad (OK that is odd). Then there was an orzo salad with a mexican twist, including cheese and tomatoes (hmm….not sure how the dill fits in with the mexican but OK) and there is dill in the orzo salad! Who the hell does that?!
At dinner of course the dog has to be there (hence forth known as the rat dog) so doggie treats are kept on the plate with the russians people food and she periodically feeds the dog to get him to be quiet. Then daddy picks up the rat dog and feeds it some mexican orzo with dill from his hands, and eats what the rat dog does not finish (yuck! why not just french the damn dog?!). We finally get a tour and I cannot help but notice how much of the art work consists of post cards. I can tell they are post cards because the russian quickly informs me, and the post card type writing also gives it away. Then I notice the lovely bedroom furniture, but the bed is just a mattress on the floor. I say how I bet they cannot wait to get a nice bed and the russian informs me that she prefers it that way. (Jen, did I mention she is a RED head now, trying to be like you I think). Later on in the tour I notice a lovely sleigh bed frame in the basement, but heaven forbid that go in the bedroom when someone could instead sleep on a mattress in the middle of the room.
We are then informed by the russian that she cannot entertain us so we must all leave the nice new comfortable air conditioned house and head to the river. The husband is dressed in a very fancy outfit of brown shoes (slightly lighter colored than poo, but darker than tan), white socks which stick up enough so you can really see the contrast, black shorts (and not faded black, brand new really dark black) and a hawaiian shirt. He obtain this shirt by barking at the russian to go upstairs and get him his hawaiian shirt from the closet. She of course jumped to it and came back with a shirt that was not the correct hawaiian shirt (like the rest of us she must have assumed most men living in West Virginia would have at most 1 hawaiian shirt). Please note the first shirt would not work because he is too fat for it. She scurries back upstairs and gets 2 more shirts. What amazed me was how wrinkled a shirt can get when stored on a hanger in a half empty closet. He chooses a hawaiian shirt to match his black shorts, brown shoes and white sock and we depart.
Please note, I am wearing a DRESS. I am wearing nice fancy bedazzled flip flops, which of course have no traction. The husband explains that there are a few places to park, some are close to where we are going and some require a short walk. I proclaim that I am MORE than happy to pay the fee to park close because I am wearing a freaking DRESS and bedazzled shoes with no traction. So he decides to park as far away as possible. Getting to our final destination involved hiking up a steep hill of rocks, crossing 2 railroads tracks, hiking down 2 steep cliffs of ricks and then hiking 1.5 miles down a dirt and rock trail apparently only utilized by people on bicycles until we reach a bridge we have to climb up, walk across and then climb down. It had not occurred to the husband or the russian that, while I might normally be more than happy go for a hike when its 100 degrees, today I am in a freaking DRESS wearing bedazzled shoes with no traction and perhaps I would rather spend the $2 (yes, I confirmed the price) to park. On our way back he pointed out how horrible the traffic would have been had we parked closer to the town (traffic going 25 mph instead of the posted 35 mph) and I pointed out that they were still moving faster than us and had AC. He did not seem to understand my point.
When we reached the town we first stopped at a restaurant for a drink, which turned into dinner. I ordered a crab cake sandwich on a pretzel bun with a side of fresh strawberries and instead got a "Krab" fishy tasting sandwich on a regular bun with rotten strawberries that could not be salvaged. Sigh. I said I wanted to stop and get ice cream and go to the life is good store (I needed a boost of happiness in my day) and that request went ignored. When the husband put down his credit card on the bill (with no mention to us of splitting it) my husband (perhaps inappropriately) asked if he was going to get dinner for everyone (bill could not have been more than $30 including beers) and he looked at him and laughed and said "what, do I look like I am rich?!?!".
How did I get talked into this day trip again?
No comments:
Post a Comment