Maryland is a strange place, Interwebz.
After our long, uke-filled car ride, we were eager to get settled into our room at the world famous Hampton Inn of Fruitland. A ridiculously chipper blond manned the desk. I plopped Herbert, sheathed in his powder blue bag, atop the counter and began rummaging through my bag. “Checking in,” I mumbled, barely raising my eyes to meet hers.
They were the size of saucers and trained on poor Herbert. “Is that an honest to God ukulele?” she squealed, clasping her hands to her mouth.
“Seriously?” I asked, dropping my wallet onto the faux marble tiles.
“I’ve never seen a ukulele in real life,” she panted.
“Ok. Yes? It’s a uke. His name is Herbert. Do you…um…want to touch him?” It all felt incredibly dirty and weird. So obviously the only way to make the situation better was to add my little brother into the mix.
“Say, you probably get this a lot, but did Hampton ever really stay here?” he quipped, rescuing Herbert and plucking away on his strings. The blond girl’s gaze vacillated from confusion to delight as she followed him around the lobby.
“Is this hotel pager friendly?” Rocco contributed to the quickly unraveling situation.
“Lonon. Last name is Lonon. Is our room ready?” I interjected. Be damned if I was going to spend another hour in a car with Thom if he didn’t get his much needed opportunity to crap.
Eventually we made it to our room (and Thom to his all-tile room) without further incident. Though be advised, there’s nothing quite as disturbing as having your little brother emerge from fifteen minutes of shower-less bathroom time and announcing, “New product idea: soft serve carbonated ice cream!” I don’t think I ate again until we made it to Ocean City four days later.
Speaking of Ocean City, there were two boardwalk moments I need to share with you. First, Rocco was faced with a tremendous fashion dilemma and I (due to that damn Fail Whale ruining my plans) was unable to ask the Interwebz for advice. So now, far too late for your input to matter, I’ll share his original question – “Are these my color?” In the end, we decided they’d be far too baggy and moved on.
Second, remember how I found Jesus in Ohio a while ago? Then He was struck by lightening and burned to the ground? Well hold on to your inappropriately tight, neon green ladies running shorts, people. I found Him again – right alongside the boardwalk in Ocean City, MD. I’m starting to think I need a restraining order.
Actually, I counted at least five Jesuses. (Is it a sin to pluralize Jesus? If so, it has to be a lesser sin than sticking a metal pole and floodlights in his forehead, right?) Obviously someone fed him after midnight then got him wet.