Sperm Shack, Part 1
Once we got to New Hampshire, things did not go smoothly (shocking, I know) at the outset. First there was the car rental fiasco, in which Jen, though vividly remembering doing so, actually did NOT reserve a rental car, resulting in 45 minutes wandering from counter to counter saying, “did I reserve a car with you? No? Do you have any cars available? No? Thanks.” Cait and the COOLER OF DOOM (which had helpfully been labeled “Dry ice—medical specimen—sperm”) stayed far far away so as not to further freak the natives. Eventually we did get a rather cool car, the Malibu Maxx, which Jen had been curious about ever since the Olympiad Advertising (she did have much fun sliding seats around and playing with other features over the course of the weekend), and headed off to find some dinner.
It was only after sitting down with our eat-in food and receiving a phone call from Jen’s mom
Our apprehension grew deeper as the road to Wolfeboro seemed to grow longer and longer and longer. It did not help that the radio reception grew worse and worse (Oh, and did we mention the rain? If you have been living in the Northeast within the last month, this should come as no surprise to you, but…it was raining. Hard.). Rather than succumb to our panic, we got silly (who knows? Maybe prolonged exposure to dry ice vapors warped our brains even further than their normal warped state). As the B-52s Love Shack came on, we simultaneously turned to each other and belted out, “SPERM SHACK BABY!”
To be continued…
For those of you playing along at home, come back later and take a shot at the Sperm Shack Quiz. See if you are as sperm warped as we are….