New England weenies

Man, did this week take a great, yet unexpected, turn! On Tuesday, Mo and I decided to ride the Metro-North to her hometown--good ol' Easton, CT, where stores have been outlawed since the dawn of the 20th century and cell service is limited to a lone chair situated atop a hill. Mr. and Mrs. Mo were extremely welcoming. I had wrongly pictured her father as a traveling businessman/secret agent. Instead, I was faced with a quirky paternal type innocently concerned about his aching tooth and fluctuating body weight (At dinner, Mr. Mo asked me whether or not I thought he was "chubby," forcing daughter "Elizabeth" to change the topic of conversation). Upon putting our luggage down, the four of us headed to Huntington Park. I saw a mini-frog and scooped it up in my hands, after a dozen unsuccessful attempts. Mo took a picture, which I may or may not feature below, seeing as today marks day 1 of my Facebook hiatus. I carried it atop my palm for a few yards, intending to give it a new home, but, feeling guilty, returned it to its friends and family. Mrs. Mo and I continued to pick and share raspberries along our stroll to the reservoir. Some were sweeter than others. As we approached the large body of water, three twenty-something guys were diving from a treetop. Mo climbed it and plummeted into the surprisingly deep waters. Sans glasses, I jumped into the lake from a less dangerous edge. The first few steps were easy, but, all of a sudden, I was unable to feel the bottom. I sank, images of a snapping turtle flashing through my mind. Mo swam toward my submerging body, and I greeted her with a mouthful of water. I gotta say, I sure am happy to be alive.

At night, Mo and I watched a few episodes of "Sex and the City," one of our new pastimes this summer. I was dealing with a bad eye reaction to the basement's dampness, while she was creating loose bridges between her and Miranda's love lives. The "He's just not that into you" principle is not foolproof, if you ask me. There are multiple other factors to consider when a guy doesn't immediately call/text you back or accept the coveted "upstairs" invitation, like laundry, Lebanese bff's, and diarrhea. 

Thursday was action-packed. Kicked the morning off with an omelet, courtesy of Mo, and then drove to New Haven, where we snuck into a Yale residence hall and participated in a perception study. Mo won 2 dollars because she successfully threw three rings into the box (It was a lot harder than it looked!) and I received a participatory Reese's cup. We met Mr. and Mrs. Mo at UNH, where Mrs. Mo works, and went to an outlet mall directly after. I got a belt, a pair of pants, and some underwear--nothing too special, but it was all on sale. During the evening, we "watched" a production of "Romeo and Juliet" in New London. I bought a much-desired Cookies and Cream milkshake. Hadn't had one of those bad boys in ages! At night, Mo and I drove to one of Mo's friend's house in Easton. The words "bitch," "fuck," "shit," and possibly even "slut" were thrown at all sides by parents and children alike. I stood quiet and filled up on water and rainbow-sprinkled cookies. Our brief visit was tickling. 

Just this morning, Mo and I arose in search of a place to swim... and failed. A woman "politely" informed us that Lake no. 1 was reserved for residents of that particular neighborhood only. Lake no. 2 costed an arm and a leg. We decided to hit some balls at the driving range, which I had foolishly envisioned as a "Fast and Furious" twist on the classic game of Polo. Mo was good, Mrs. Mo was better, and I was a stinker.

I learned a handful of things in CT this week:

1. Humans don't naturally float in water,

2. Don't count on a certified lifeguard to actually save you while drowning, and

3. You'll never spot a deer (or Bigfoot) if you're always on the alert.

Later.