Oh, hey hey.
We are in DC. That’s right. This is officially vacation Susie writing to you. Literally: Oh, hey hey.
We decided for a summer vacation to DC. Why? Because we are nerds and we wanted to learn things. And that’s what we nerds do. We learn things. So here we are: in DC learning things.
Today, I got to learn why it is that I hate going on vacation with Chuck. I mean, I hate and love all at the same time. Mostly, being on vacation with Chuck is just like normal life: just the two of us, the things he thinks are funny, and a lot of eye rolls and sighs by me.
Chuck likes puns. Chuck likes stupid humor. Chuck likes to run jokes into the ground. If I’d say the joke once, he’d say it at least 50 times. Really hammer it home. It makes his jokes really funny. And by really funny I mean not at all.
For example: we are staying in a neighborhood called “Foggy Bottom.” I have been told I have a “foggy bottom” or look at that “foggy bottom” or burritos give me a “foggy bottom”. We’ve been here less than 24 hours and I already want to kick his “foggy bottom”.
And see at home, I can just walk away.
On vacation, I am trapped. TRAPPED with him and his “Oh Pennsylvania Avenue? I feel like I know someone who lives on this street”-type jokes.
I’ve been told “huh, there’s a lot of US flags here. Wonder why?”
And “how funny that everything here is named after presidents. What a coincidence!”
I’ve been asked which shops I was looking forward to visiting on The Mall. And if local squirrels were called Mall Rats (or is that just the name for homeless folk?).
I swear if I was walking by the two of us and I heard even a snippet of the things Chuck says, I would blog about the moron I was listening to asking his wife “if McDonald’s bought a sponsored spot in the National Arch-ives.”
I feel like it’s been a long time since Chuck and I went on vacation together just the two of us, and I feel a bit like the frog in boiling water. I got used to him at home and I forgot what him is like on vacation. And him is a lot to handle by myself.
At this point, the best I can hope for is Patty Hearst syndrome and some sort of identifying with my captor. Beyond that, wish me and my foggy bottom luck.
Here’s some pics from DC: Day One.