More on the toes in a little bit.
This weekend was amazing. Amazing in the sense that Dane and I enjoyed time away from our real house and spent some time in someone else’s house. VRBO, if you’re never heard of it. Get acquainted. It’s very likely we will never stay in a hotel again.
Moving on, when I woke up every morning, this was my view.
I wish I was kidding, but alas, when I looked the other way, I saw this.
I kind of never wanted to leave. Except for when I had prepared a full meal to cook on the grill and realized the tank was empty. And all the tank-filler places were closed. It was at that moment that I kind of did want to be back at our house–using our grill that worked.
Otherwise, we were perfectly content practicing the art of doing nothing, which sort of looks like this.
Now, about that toe. We decided on Saturday it would be the grandest of ideas to paddle out to the sandbar in the kayak that comes standard with the house.
We packed snacks and drinks and were ready for a trip that was going to be more fun than a Barrel’O’Monkeys–complete with more self-timed photos of us being cheesy and annoying.
Two flips, six curse words and one sob fest right in the middle of the ocean later and I kind of felt like this trip was erring more on the side of awful than awesome. Turns out, I was right. Upon reaching land, I discovered my ocean drama was not for nothing, because my 4th toe was larger than all the rest and turning colors and I kind of wanted to vomit.
I’ll save you the grotesque photos, but I assure you, it’s some pretty shades of purple and black two days later. Fun.
And that, my friends, is how you have the best weekend ever–even when it includes breaking bones.