Virginia

My squeeze and I spent this last weekend in Richmond and Williamsburg, Virginia. It was an exhausting three days and the Saturday and Sunday part put me in a viscous bad mood.

Squeeze flew to Richmond on Thursday for work related activities. I had to teach on Thursday, so I joined her there on Friday. To accomplish that I had to get up at 4:00 a.m. (I actually arose at 3:00) to guarantee getting to the airport at 5:00 for a flight that left at 6:00. I got to Richmond at 12 noon and my squeeze picked me up at the terminal with a nearly new bright yellow Mustang rental. Sweet!

She drove me to the hotel we were staying in, the Jefferson. The Jefferson is one of the grand dames of Richmond, having opened in October of 1895, and still going strong. It was beautiful and elegant. People were nice and very courteous. There was an afternoon high tea in the Rotunda. It was quite civilized, as I expect people and things in my home state to be (I grew up in Northern Virginia).

Friday night Squeeze, one of Squeeze's underling editors, and Underling Editor's husband went to a really nice, incredibly small, French restaurant. I was tickled that UE's husband took it upon himself to order the wine; all of it was French, and he mispronounced every name, totally without hesitation or self-consciousness. He was like a caricature of a Texas oil millionaire ordering wine in French.

Now I have to tell you that Squeeze is a bright woman. She has been successful in bidness, and is a college graduate of a prestigious private Southern college. But she's taking medicine, and I think it's had an effect on her brain. Two examples: When our entourage first entered the restaurant, all bundled up in heavy coats, the greeter said "May I have your coats?"

I replied "May I have your watch?"

Squeeze turned to me and said "Why? Does he have a nice watch?"

It's a joke, sweetheart, a joke.

Later, we were all commenting on a painting on the wall near our table. Some thought is was antique, others thought is was contemporary. I said "Well, here's the artist's chop." A chop is a signature used by Japanese artists and I was facetiously suggesting that not only was it modern, but it was made in Japan.

Squeeze said "Where is the chop?" I gave her "the look," meaning, "you gotta be kidding me." Everyone else had laughed, clearly getting my attempt at humor. Squeeze then says "Why won't you tell me where it is?"

Sigh. You gotta cut back on them little pills.

We arose on Saturday, checked out, and headed to nearby Williamsburg. Colonial Williamsburg is a fun, fun place. I've been there many times, beginning when I was in the fourth grade and several times since. I've always had a ball, so I was looking forward to seeing it again. Unfortunately, Sunday was the day for the official lighting of the Christmas decorations, and everyone on the Eastern Seaboard over 70 was in that tiny town last weekend. It was wall to freaking wall people. Stepping on you, stepping in front of you. Restaurants had hour long waits for lunch! It was catastrophic. Squeeze claims that she literally tried 47 hotels unsuccessfully before getting us a reservation at the place we stayed. That should have suggested something was amiss right there.

The second clue that there was going to be a problem was when Squeeze and I tried to shop at a local discount mall. Finding parking was impossible and outrageous. It really didn't matter if you followed some pedestrian to her car and put on your blinker telling everyone else "I was here first, this spot belongs to me." Other motorists would hang around that spot too, and if they could, would pirate your parking slot. Squeeze had that happen a couple of times. I was ready to get into a fist fight over it (I think I coulda taken the old woman with the walker) but Squeeze said it wasn't worth bumping fenders over. We left without ever finding a place to park, with Squeeze vowing to return again later (I have no doubt she was far more interested in that outlet mall than in Colonial Williamsburg).

Later, when we tried to have dinner, even scuzzy places in strip malls were running hour and two hour waits. Luckily(?) we found a place that seated us immediately. Unluckily, it was an hour between when we ordered out dinners and when we were actually served them. If I hear anyone else in the next week or two say "Thank you for you patience," I'm gonna belt 'em.

We left the hotel mid-morning Sunday, and Squeeze said "Let's go back to the outlet mall. It shouldn't be crowded now. Everyone is in church or sleeping in."

Actually, everyone in Williamsburg was at the outlet mall. We again had the same problem finding a parking spot and again got pirated. I was getting really irritated.

I said "Why don't you order whatever it is you want off the Internet, and I'll GIVE you the $20 you'd have otherwise saved."

Squeeze snapped at me. "Alright!" she said angrily, "We'll go sit around in the airport and do nothing for a couple of hours."

Go ahead. Find a damned parking spot if you can.

This is hell.

Finally she found a spot and parked the car. She announced that we should go our separate ways and meet back at the car in one hour exactly. I had nothing I wanted to see or buy, other than a cone of ice cream from Ben and Jerry's. I began searching for their store.

In just a few minutes my cell phone rang. Squeeze suggested that perhaps it would be prudent to meet after 20 minutes rather than an hour. Fine. Unfortunately, by the time I had located Ben and Jerry's it was so far on the other side of the mall from where I was that there was no way to get there, get an ice cream cone, and get back to the car in 20 minutes. It was like the climber who makes it to the highest base camp but can't quite make the summit of Everest before the storm sets in.

We reassembled at the car. For all that hassle, Squeeze had bought some makeup. As SUVs swam like sharks around us hoping to snatch our spot, Squeeze struggled to find her car keys.

Once she did so and we got away from the Dante's Seven Circles of Hell Outlet Stores, Squeeze drove like a crazy woman toward the Richmond airport, hitting speeds of 85 and 90 in a 65 mile per hour speed zone. When we got to the airport, she was out of the car and running toward the terminal.

"What happened to 'a couple hours in the airport'?"

She replied, "When I said that I was basing it on the time my watch said. I just realized that my watched had stopped!"

Note to Squeeze: With mechanical watches that are not self-winding, you need to wind them EVERY DAY or they stop running.

The plane trip home was a nightmare as well. Delays, delays, delays.

I don't think I'll ever go to Williamsburg again. What a pity.