The Boyz were begging us to hit Circus Circus to ride the roller coasters, and lucky for Dyl, he is exactly 48" and a little bigger in his shoes. Gran-pa Ranny and Nana, humored Em on a few kiddie rides, then took her back to the hotel for a nap. God bless.
We had a blast playing with the Boyz, and it was so nice to have them big enough, and brave enough, to go on all the rides that we wanted to. Dawson even dared to ride the slingshot a couple of times with Dave, when I decided, I didn't care to have that 'uterus in your throat,' kinda feeling right before a seafood buffet.
We played all afternoon, and on the last couple of times down the water roller coaster, my poor flats got soaked. It's kind of an iffy situation when you wear shoes without socks anyway, but add water and a full day of walking to the equation, and basically just, yikes! Jeff and Mal, hung out all afternoon with us and we had a great time, but I felt bad for them when they piled in the car with us, and my feet were right by the air conditioner.
With everyone coastered out, we called the rest of the Clan, and decided to meet at The Orleans, for the seafood buffet. Going with my family to eat seafood, often brings back unpleasant memories for Dave, who's own family, doesn't really give butter and crab legs the respect or the audible moans, they deserve. Not judging, just saying. Anyway, I have never seen Dave's complexion, more green, than our trip to Cape Cod, when he sat across from my baby brother Will, as he went apocalyptic on a lobster. So, needless to say, Dave was not pumped, although his only stipulation was that he didn't sit across from Will.
Once the group reunited at The Orleans, Dave and I got the Hoodlums taken care of, and all bets were off. I should have had a roll, or a chaser of some sort, but standing in front of all that hot clarified butter, and the split crab legs taunting me from my plate, all the steps I had mastered in Butterholics Anonymous, went right out the window. It was like a demon inside me, cracking, shelling, dipping, marinating, succu-lating(?), and repeating. Anywho, it was intense.
When it was all said and done, I was like someone waking from a blackout. I surveyed my surroundings, and felt a little ashamed at the absolute annihilation of crab remnants littering our table. I heard people talking, but it was muffled, like I was underwater, and then felt Dave take my arm, to steady me as we left the restaurant.
By the time we got to the car, I was sloppy. Jeff and Mal rode home with us, and I started saying my thoughts out loud, like how loooob-rri-caaa-ted my eyelids felt, and how suh-loow they were blinking, look *buh-link buh-link*, and how warm my body was. I started singing, and what seemed like a compliment at the time, from my brother in the back seat, about how I shudda tried out for American Idol, now slaps me in the sober face.
It wasn't too long before the smell of my feet circulating through the air vents, put a harsh on my butter buzz. I started to sober up way to fast, and the previously warm and heavenly feeling fed into my paranoia and I started to wonder if this sensation was what stroke victims initially felt. Walking into the hotel, I was in full blown panic mode, full of remorse and teary. Dave was so good to me though, he put me to bed and stroked my head, and in between my vows to never eat crab drenched in butter again, he promised I would feel better in the morning.
He lied.
Morning came, along with the terrible smell of butter and seafood wafting from my pores, in spite of some serious exfoliation in the shower. We loaded up the car, played at the pool long enough to get sunburned, and then hit the road for 7 hours of family togetherness. That is a long ride, especially with three little Hoodlums mourning the end of their vacation, their Aunts and Uncles, Nana and Gran-pa Ranny, and 75 degree weather. They weren't even consoled when I explained to them it was only 3 short months until July, when Oakley might reach 75 degrees.
It was a great week. Thanks again Mom and Dad. xoxoxoxo
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