Lana and I had planned to spend the day together in Plymouth and had recruited the bride and groom to have some outdoor drinks with us. Lachlan and his friend Barry caught wind that we were staying and decided to join us. We convinced Jenn's parents and brother that they needed to come too, so it turned into a big group of us at the Cabby Shack. We had to literally wait behind the restaurant for it to open at noon, we were ready for drinks at 11:30am. While sitting on the wall at the harbor, we were looking out over the boats and saw this awesome pirate dingy. You can't really see it, but the big boat on the dock directly behind the pirate ship was called the Amy something. I kinda loved it.
Once noon hit, we made our way inside to grab a table. After some issues with which bar was open and what tables we could sit at, we got a seat right on the patio overlooking the water. I had been craving a frozen mudslide and didn't even wait for the waitress to say hi before I ordered one. As soon as I took I sip I proclaimed it the best frozen mudslide ever, but when Lana asked if was serious I immediately said it wasn't and the one at the Gazebo on Nantucket is the best. How quickly I turned on that poor mudslide. We spent a few hours lounging in the sun, telling ridiculous stories and sipping some frozen drinks. People started trickling out around 2:30pm and Lana and I went on a hunt for her Cape Cod bracelet, part of her 101 list. We poked around shops, drove all over Plymouth, but finally got one at a general store. We did a mini photo shoot on the water to document the purchase and headed home. I drove her back to Jenn's parents house, where she had left her car for the weekend. During the drive home, this conversation happened, to which Lana proclaimed the greatest hungover moment between us, ever, and she is sticking by it.
Me: Lana, after a night of drinking do you just feel fuzzy? Like, not hungover, just.....fuzzy.
Lana: {10 seconds later} Wait, what?
When I got home I started to unpack and decompress from the weekend. I realized that I hadn't seen my awesome 5 inch wine colored Carlos Santana patent heels with ribbon accent in a while, and was nervous I'd forgot to pack them. I tore apart my bags but they weren't there. I texted Mark to see if I had left them in his car between the reception and hotel, but he didn't find them. I called the hotel and the reception place the next day, but neither place had found them. I started to panic. These shoes are amazing, and I would be distraught to lose them. I tore my car apart and kept calling the hotel, insisting I'd left them there, finally convinced a maid had stolen them. I put up on last plea on my Facebook page, hoping someone had thrown them in their bag by accident, but nada. Jenn just HAPPENED to be checking Facebook a few days later, on her honeymoon, and told me that she grabbed them from the reception hall and were in her friends car. She claimed she told me this at the after party, but I'm not sure about that. When it comes to shoes, I remember.
I haven't gotten them back yet, but I know they are safe, someplace, with someone, and that's enough for me. I'm not plagued at night with thoughts of a maid wearing them around the hotel, laughing at the stupid girl who left such amazing shoes behind. Trust me, I lost sleep over that mental picture.
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