I’m pouting today. Yes, I’ve been sick and yes, the Mister has babied me and taken care of the kids since yesterday morning… But, I’m still mad at him. And I’m going to go all three-year-old on him and pout. Pout like hell. Maybe even, intermittently, bat some eyelashes and ask, “Pretty, pretty please? With sugar on top?” Although, there isn’t really much he can do to help me.
He’s going to New Orleans tomorrow. New Orleans. I’ve never been in my entire life. I’ve always wanted to go. Always. My family always went, and made it an adult trip. They’ve promised me since I was a little girl that they would take me. Next year. Always next year. Next year still hasn’t happened. (They suck. I won’t say what.)
Anyway, you guys know my passion for history and architecture… Two reasons I love living in the South so very much. The rich history (the good and the bad) and the amazing architecture. Plus it’s just beautiful. And full of nice people. (With some rednecks thrown in there, but we’ll pretend they don’t exist for this entry…)
New Orleans is one of those cities that just epitomizes the Old South. It has been somewhere I’ve dreamed of since I was a little girl sitting in my petticoats, crinolines and hoop skirts. (Not really, but if we’re dreaming of Southern grandeur, why not… And, hell, let’s throw a parasol in there, too, while we’re at it.) I have countless books, poured over info at the library and on the internetz, researching and learning about the history of the area my entire life. I’ve been sort of obsessed with it…
When I was little, I dreamed of living in an antebellum (pre-civil war era) mansion, with big white columns and a grand staircase… And my ultimate dream was for the this beautiful gem to be nestled in ancient live oaks in Louisiana on the bayou. I’ve mentioned most of this before… My obsession love of history, old houses, ghosts, my vow that I will one day live in an antebellum mansion, and my love of swamps and alligators. It all makes perfect sense to me. I know, I’m weird.
So, New Orleans has always held a special place in my heart. And every year it evaded me. Now, out of the blue, the Mister up and says he’s going. (You suck. And I won’t say what.) Anyway, I’ve asked my mother, my mother-in-law, even my not-so-babysitting-friendly uncle… Nobody can keep the kids. Would it be bad to take them? I haven’t run that one by the Mister yet. Maybe some tears will do. Or a blowjob.
All I want to do is go ride the Old River Road. That’s all. I have books upon books on these houses in particular, have researched them, dreamed of them… Oh, to see Oak Alley or Destrehan or San Fancisco or, for me especially, The Myrtles in person… Oh.my.god. I seriously could pee my pants just thinking about it… To actually be in these places. In person. I’ve read about them and studied them since I was a little girl. And of course I’d need to take a tour of the city, spend some time in the cemeteries (I’ve already said I’m weird) and eat a good meal or three… That’s all… Maybe take a tour of the bayous/swamps… That’s all. And visit a real hoodoo store. That’s really all. I swear.
And the Mister is going without me. Tomorrow. I’m seriously tearing up right now. No joke. I am so bummed, I may get sick again… Anyone want to come to Georgia and keep my kids for two days? Please? They’re really cute and lots of fun… And I have a fully stocked liquor cabinet… Any takers???
Okay, I’m off to sit in disappointment daydreaming of the trip I could be on and try to finagle my way into being able to go. Somehow.
Mister, I have no freaking idea how you thought you could take this trip without some major tears and upset on my part.
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