Hurricanes & Bourbon Manhattans

Spent an amazing 36 hours in Carolina Beach, North Carolina last week with one of my best friends, Amy. Though we had to leave early due to Irene’s impending arrival, we made the most of our hours together: lazing on the beach, talking, laughing, eating, drinking and watching in awe as the waves grew larger, and the ocean churned and turned a mysterious, deep green. Standing waist deep in the water, we rooted our feet in the sand to keep from being pulled out into the ocean’s mighty ebb.

My trip home, a mere 4 hours, passed swiftly, while Amy’s turned into a 10+ hours, rain-soaked anxiety attack back to New York City. When she finally returned home with Gus, her Yorkie sidekick, she sent me a text. That text, and the ones that followed are too good not to share.

A: Home. On my stoop. No keys. Oh look, there’s the pity trolley.

Me: Oh no! Gus likes bars, right?

A: I am in hate with all things right now.

Me: Ugh, I know.

A: Gus is going to like a bourbon Manhattan. Well, at least one of the ice cubes.

Me: One bourbon Manhattan with extra ice, please.

A: So delicious. I’ll never understand why embryos don’t like them.

Me: And, scene!

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