Technically, however, the house is no longer our house. So I'm really just writing about A house in Cape May. Not MY house.
This weekend, it became painfully obvious that it wasn't my house anymore.
When the hub and I first bought the house, it was occasionally called the Wedding Cake Cottage. Why? I guess because it was white and had a bunch of gingerbread, and someone thought the name was cute.
I'm so not into cute.
In fact, as we spent time in Cape May over the past nine years, we often joked about the "cuteness" of the Wedding Cake Cottage. As the Cape May trolley would drive past our home, you see, we would hear the tour guide tell people that that was the name of the house.
(Note: those same tour guides will tell you that whenever there are three or more houses that look alike, they were built by some generous father for his three/four/five daughters. I often wonder if tour guides 100 years from now will say that as they drive through the suburban neighborhoods that surround Baltimore. "And these 30 identical houses were built by a very fertile father for his 30 daughters." For the record, usually when houses look alike they were built by a hotel or railroad to house their employees. But that's not as romantic.)
(Note: those same tour guides will tell you that whenever there are three or more houses that look alike, they were built by some generous father for his three/four/five daughters. I often wonder if tour guides 100 years from now will say that as they drive through the suburban neighborhoods that surround Baltimore. "And these 30 identical houses were built by a very fertile father for his 30 daughters." For the record, usually when houses look alike they were built by a hotel or railroad to house their employees. But that's not as romantic.)
Anyway, we called the house the Sayre House, after the first recorded owner.
And we joked about having one of our friends dress up in an old bridal gown and wave to the trolley as it drove by.
Did I mention that our first choice for this role was Birdman? (Yes, the same Birdman that I explained had no renovation skills but did his part by making us laugh. You can see his fan page here.)
So, this weekend, before we went to Cape May, my husband called Bird and asked if he was still into dressing up like a bride.
Was he ever into it.
See for yourself:
The good natured groom is Big Guy. He drew the short stick (not that I'm saying Birdman has a short stick...I really wouldn't know one way or the other), but seemed to get into it himself after a little while and a lot of beer.
Kiddies, look at your Uncle Big Guy. This is why we don't want you to drink.
The wedding was well documented, as most weddings are.
The couple got happier as the day went on, as most couples do.
And ultimately, the pairing ended in divorce, as most pairings do. (Even though they looked so darn happy as they took the plunge):
I don't know whose idea it was to jump in the pool. But it was hot. And all that waving to the trolleys made it even hotter. Of course, nothing was hotter than Birdman himself. Even the pool couldn't cool that hotness down.
By the way, both the Birdman and the Big Guy are happily married men. They're married to (sometimes) happily married women.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
