A Post Delayed Is A Post Denied

Or: How I Have Virtually Assured Myself Of The Irrelevance Of The Information Contained Herein By Merit Of Waiting Until A Full Two Weeks After Bride And Groom Returned From Their Honeymoon To Post This Drivel
I am many things to many people, but those that know me best know that there is one thing that I am not: punctual.
Sure, I have excuses as to why I haven’t posted my summation of the trip down to South Carolina to attend Brad and Lauren’s wedding – I’ve been busy at work, my wife and I have been preparing for the arrival of our child, tectonic plate shifts, etc. And yes, there was free wireless at the hotel, meaning that I could have begun my summary while still in the midst of the celebrations, but alas and alack, my slackerlybetter instincts won out.
It is, therefore, with a mix of pride and chagrin that I hereby present My Account of Brad and Lauren’s Wedding Weekend.
Wednesday, May 11th
Wednesday evening was spent driving to meet our good friends Andy and Andrea in Virginia. Andy was in the wedding as well (Brad, Andy and I have known each other since middle school), so we intended on carpooling down to Charleston, SC. Unfortunately, Andy and Ange’s babysitter bailed at the last minute, so Ange had to stay up “north” with their son.
Thursday, May 12th
Early Thursday morning, Andy, my wife and I piled into Andy’s Jetta TDI and hit the road. We gobbled up the mileage and I must say there’s something extremely psychologically satisfying about getting 50 miles per gallon. That little TDI can book, I tell you whut.
We arrived in Charleston around 4pm or so and checked in at the Holiday Inn and, of course, my bad customer service mojo kicked in. The room we were assigned had a balcony door that was slightly off kilter, meaning that it wouldn’t shut the whole way, thus allowing both the charming sounds of high schoolers on Senior Week excursions playing by the pool and generally making public nuisances of themselves and the lovely humid seaside Charleston air access to the inner reaches of our room. I tried several times to shut the door, as did Andy, the both of us using varying amounts of force, speed and combinations thereof to attempt to secure the services of said door in keeping our room a bit more sanctuary-esque, to no avail. Not being particularly fond of either 17-year-old flirting-by-proxy or of sleeping amidst clammy sheets, my wife and I decided that I should call the front desk and ask for a maintenance worker to come up and have a look.
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