Honeymoon Part I: Lost in Translation

We made it to the Deep South and back, alive, in whole pieces, still married. Congrats to us.

Yes, my Deep South family did in fact greet us with celebratory balloons. Because they're awesome.

 



And yes, I did in fact gain the promised eight pounds, and Goose did in fact eat the promised second, third, fourth helpings. We even got Petrie and Pax to sit in the back seat for a record-breaking collective eight minutes.



I could write a book on the many things we discovered in packing up Mom's house, almost all of which included spiders, spelling tests and paint cans, but that is for another day. It was rough, and that's probably the sum of what I can say about it now. That, and the fact that I am O.V.E.R. sweating. Like, over it.

So, on the heels of our Deep South trip (which, by the way, for probably the first time in the history of my entire long-long-long adult life, I did not pack a pair of heels. Alllll flats, vomit.), I thought we could stray a little further south.

Like end of the world south. (In my mind, that is said in Captain Jack Sparrow's voice.)


Like South Africa south. (In my mind, that is said in Morgan Freeman's voice.)



I couldn't resist. Google Morgan Freeman pictures. It will make your day, swear.



Side note: Yes, I narrate through my posts as I'm writing them, as if this were going to be an animated movie. You're welcome.

Part I: Lost in Translation

Goose and I undertook honeymoon-destination location discussions for a while, mainly because I'm OCD and risk-averse, and he's a list-maker and travel snob. Eventually, we narrowed it down to two choices: Thailand v. South Africa.

And here's how I processed it: Death by Monsoon v. Death by Lion Consumption and/or Shark Attack.


Don't worry, that girl lived. I probably would not have.

After much self-reflection and assessment of my endurance skills, I figured I had a better chance of surviving a large mammal than a large wave. Is that weird that I spend many seconds of my day thinking those things through? No? Ok, then. South Africa it is.

At the start of planning, I requested we take a honeymoon that required little effort. I spent the last 18 months planning (with admittedly fantastic help) a destination wedding for north of 350 people, herding 20+ non-Houston, non-New Orleans vendors, taking over the care (and ultimately, estate) of a very sick mother and moving a Goose&Co. into my apartment, all while attempting to practice law without a bag over my head. When I say "little effort," I envisioned going somewhere with french fries, sitting, staring at the sky, eating hamburgers, sitting, and quietly and contentedly processing all of my risk-averse methods of escaping sure death.

Somewhere along the way, that got a tad lost in translation.

I said: "Goose, let's go somewhere easy."

Goose heard: "Goose, let's go somewhere where we have to take nine planes, three boats, a car, a van and a bus to traverse three countries and eight stops, none alike in climate, clothing or dignity. Oh, and make sure they serve french fries."

And so, this is how our honeymoon story begins. First up: Capetown by way of New Orleans, Houston, New York and London. Oh, it will be stellar. And probably a tad bit glittery.