There were four or so other couples—all straight—not that there's anything wrong with a bunch of straight people first thing in the morning when you're not a morning person. One of the couples was comprised of "people of color," so at least we weren't the only token diversity couple.
Breakfast was served with a smile, and it consisted of Belgian waffles, a most delicious sausage patty (which was very flat and about four inches in diameter as opposed to thick and half-dollar size), some sliced red apples, orange juice, and coffee—oh yeah, with maple syrup and real butter.
We spent some time on the upstairs front porch. These two pics are hazy for some reason:
where, as you can see, Robert read and I blogged. The ocean was across the street from us, as you can see between these oceanfront properties:
While we were out on the porch, the woman of one of the other couples staying here came out to wait for the person she was with.
"He's using the bathroom," she said.
"Are you married?" I asked, and she answered way too quickly laughing, "Oh, no."
I said, "Well, you said that pretty quickly."
She laughed again, and said, "I only met him in June."
"Oh, okay," I said and indicating Robert continued, "Well, we've been dating for over five years, and we're not married either."
Her name was Keturah, a Hebrew name from the bible she explained when I asked her what ethnicity she was (she looked totally white Anglo-Saxon to me). She was from Ohio, to where she moved from Laguna Beach, California in May, met this boyfriend in June, and was here as a result of her wanting to "get back to the beach," and her boyfriend saying, "Well, let me take you to the beach for a weekend for your birthday," which was two days ago.
That's all I got to know about her in the few minutes that we chatted, well that and the fact that she's 24, she made this boyfriend leave his laptop in Ohio, and she thinks marriage is over-rated as an institution—she was engaged to be married once, had picked out the ring, made all the wedding and honeymoon plans, and then her fiancé called the whole thing off six weeks before the wedding.
Oh yeah, and she and her boyfriend (this one) were looking on the Internet for a place at the beach, just about a week and a half ago and had happened upon this B&B, thought it was cute, and it actually had a couple of rooms left with such late notice, so they booked it. Which is exactly how we ended up here.
At around 11:30, Robert and I walked across the street to the beach, and walked for about a mile toward a pier, and then back. Before heading back across the street, we went into the ocean, which was just fabulous.
The water temperature was perfect—cold enough to be refreshing, but not cold enough to cause shrinkage. Speaking of shrinkage, I devised another onesentence.org entry while in the water:
I won't pull my bathing suit down to pee in the ocean, because I'm afraid a fish will mistake my little willy for a worm and snap at it.
tags: irrational | fear | poor body image
After air-drying for a little while back on the porch, we rode out to Cook's Hot Dogs, a new place in Carolina Beach billed as having "the best steamed buns in the business." They were pretty good dogs, thanks in large part to the buns!
After that, we stopped by a Port City Java to have a frappe, and use the Internet for about an hour.
I was able to connect to the Internet in our B&B last night, but today there is some password issue that is precluding all of us, including the innkeeper, from getting connected, which I'm not pleased about. Having wireless access at the place was a major decision-point in choosing it.
It would seem they just fired a guy who worked there—presumably in some other capacity—as she said, "He was also our IT guy."
We had an extended Happy Hour on the porch reading and listening to tunes via my iPod on my docking station—classical at first (Vivaldi's La Stravaganza), and Soul Ballads after that. Bourbon and Cokes were involved, as well as some Orville Redenbacher Real Ranch Shakeable Popcorn.
After about an hour of the Soul Ballads playing, the woman of the other diverse couple stuck her head out the door and said, "Love, love, love the music!" I invited her to come sit outside and join us, but she and her other half were on their way out.
Toward the third hour of Happy Hour, we put the music and books in the room and ran to Frank's Pizza, where we ordered a pepperoni and mushroom pizza with onion and jalepeno added to my half.
Back at the room, we ate the hell out of that, and both read for just a little while longer before conking out.