{not.what.i.expected}

Have you ever imagined something one way and then it's something totally different? And not a good different? This is one of those times.

My sweet husband and I embarked on a precious two night getaway to Awendaw, South Carolina this past Thursday. Willy (my husband) loves to research on the Internet and had found us a "cabin" (I will use that term loosely) for us to stay in and just enjoy being together and alone, as in free from children. Hallelujah. (I really do love my little girls. But every now and then I get the urge to run away. I don't run away. But I think about it.)

Anyway, we turn onto the muddy road our "cabin" is on, follow the directions and . . . there it is. It is not what I had in mind. But, praying for a good attitude and positive perspective (don't pray for those . . . God will test you. Like immediately), I hop out of the car and hope we're at the wrong place. We are not. The "cabin" is in the backyard of the owners' home. As in, I could spit on their front porch from where the "cabin" was located. As we enter the outdoor kitchen, I look to the right and realize that our living area is also outdoor, complete with two well loved couches. Did I mention it's 40 degrees and raining? As we head inside, it's quite tiny, which is not a problem, but I begin fervently searching for a shower. The shower is located in a different area outside of the cabin. DID I MENTION IT'S FORTY DEGREES AND RAINING? AND, I don't camp. Ever. This feels much like camping. I begin to become visibly unhappy. My sweet husband suggests we take a walk.

The walk only confirms my desire to go home. Without trying to be dramatic, we go through the, "Do YOU want to leave." "Well, do YOU want to leave?" "Do YOU want to leave." You get the idea. I want to leave, of course, but I want this to be my sweet husband's idea. To my relief, he decides to leave. Being two non confrontational people, neither of us wants to go to the owners' house and tell them of our decision to get the heck out of there. To my sweet husband's relief, they're not home. So we throw everything in the car as fast as possible (this will pose a problem later) and high tail it out of there, never to return.

Or so we think. Gratefully, Willy gets in touch with an inn in Charleston (he refuses to go home -we have free babysitting, after all!) and gets us set up with a room. At this point ANYTHING will look lovely. We check in, have a great dinner, etc., etc. All is well that ends well, right?

Wrong.

The next morning, I go in search of the library books that we had checked out, as I was so excited about reading IN PEACE. I ask Willy if he's seen the library books. Nope. He trudges to the car, only to find out that WE FORGOT THEM AT THE "CABIN." ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Willy decides to call the library and do a hypothetical, "If we lost these three books, what's the cost?" Turns out to be $90.00. SERIOUSLY? FOR THREE BOOKS? We must return to the "cabin." NOOOOOOOO. We finally get a hold of the owner and have to confront the situation. Gratefully, there's really no hard feelings. (This HAD to have happened before, right?) She even offers us a baby goat. WHAT? Um, no thanks. We're not really goat people.

So, we return to the cabin. I run in, grab the books, and my van squeals out of there. Never to return.

And this time we don't. We enjoy the rest of our time in Charleston, only having a few minor bumps in the road, like being forgotten at Starbucks and the Apple Store. We never go to Starbucks, since we're not coffee drinkers, but I had a gift card, so we decided to stop for hot chocolate. Twenty minutes later, we still don't have our drink. We decide it must be a very special drink. Clearly, Starbucks would be out of business if people had to wait 20 minutes for a drink. We don't think of this. Once we've read EVERYTHING in Starbucks (I can tell you all of the artsy events coming to Charleston for the next month or so), Willy finally meanders back up to the Starbucks person (remember, we're non confrontational) to check on the status of our drink. They had forgotten about us. This kind of thing happened again at the Apple store, as punks walked in, got help and walked out, while I sit with my poor Iphone, awaiting a new screen because, apparently, the screen shatters pretty easily when you drop it in the parking lot. Who knew? Gratefully, after looking pitiful for a half hour, we are helped and in 10 minutes, my phone is fixed . . . for a small fee, of course. We get to read those pricey library books in peace, have a lovely dinner without anyone crying or asking how many more bites, etc. etc. and the rest is fairly normal.

And thus concludes our adventure. For now. Not what you expected, right?