Warm weather. . . long hikes. . . bottomless wine glasses. . .Sushi squared. . . and, of course, shenanigans cubed.
No matter how old we get, we get into trouble when together.
Since we were little girls, our vacation days pretty much always looked like this for the first half:
And then, when we were good and tired and dirty, if we hadn't done enough real harm to be banished to the tent or the condo, we spent the second half like this:
All cleaned up. And, thanks to my father, we're thoroughly trained in the fine art of making this transformation in under 30 minutes. He took us to the coin showers in national parks where one quarter buys you 30 seconds of water, and gave us each two quarters—even when we were teenagers—seriously. And now we thank him.
This particular day ended very late. There was a moose sighting, a pretty hilarious "off the beaten path" bathroom break from which we now have a quote that will last a lifetime, tons of sushi and great wine (I vaguely recall that my Twitter feed that night read: Just sushied the hell out of that town), and a pub that served great beer and Guinness fudge torte covered in local wild huckleberries. One for the books.
But this particular shenanigan doesn't end there. No. It gets better.
The following morning, the sun seemed brightly cruel as I packed for the hour drive south to the airport. And could NOT FIND MY WALLET. Which meant I had zero ID with which to board the plane. Which meant I had left it under the table at the pub where I had landed after the Guinness chocolate cake and beer bath had taken me DOWN. Which meant YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FECKING KIDDING ME.
But this is the coolest part about a small mountain town. It's not Detroit. It was still there, full of cash and plastic. Stunning. The pub owner said, Now I know your birthday—checked your license. And I said, Yah... you just gave me my present. Trust me.
Made the flight. Just barely. Light still a bit too bright. Fantastic shenanigans.
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