Brown Eyed Susans

“Wow, look at all the brown eyed susans! And echinacea!” she gestured toward the bowing golden blossoms planted at the entrance of the shopping plaza.

He remarked, “Brown eyed susans; doesn’t that sound like a sex thing? ‘Let’s go home and do the Brown Eyed Susan.’ “

Seaworld

The miles wore on.  The honeymooners were about an hour’s drive to their hotel in Tampa.  More palm trees, more signs with mouse ears; none with a gasoline symbol.  The gas gauge was perilously low. She was oblivious, enjoying the evening breeze through rolled down windows.

The Disney and Seaworld exodus traffic creeped, and rolled to a half hearted halt when the orange warning light blinked on. This is probably what they had in mind when they coined the word clusterfuck, he thought.

“Shit,” he said. 

Bumper to bumper traffic snaked ahead.

“Do you have your AAA card with you?” he asked matter-of-factly.

She, looking over, incredulous: “Wait–I thought you filled the tank this morning!”

“Sweetie, I meant to do it. I went out to Starbucks and decided I could fill it later. I figured there would be plenty of gas stations. This is Orlando, for chrissakes. I’m sorry.” he said penitently. “And I guess this thing doesn’t have a reserve tank, either,” he added.

“Oh, my God,” she sighed, rummaging through her purse. ‘These guys are gonna think, ‘Dumbass tourists!’ “

“Baby, these are the times you gotta support me!” he implored.

“How can I support running out of fuel on the freeway in the middle of Orlando?” came the retort.

They rolled into a gas plaza on fumes, thirty agonizing minutes later. She took a picture of the gas gauge for posterity.

Nachos

The couple waited for their appetizers at the newly refurbished rib joint on a Saturday night.  The atmosphere reeked of semi-controlled chaos and disorganization. It had already been an annoying evening, what with the careless hostess seating other coupleswithout a reservation who’d arrived later. (They knew, they’d overheard their conversations.)

Harried waitstaff rushed up and down the aisle with pained looks on their faces, clutching order pads and dropping drinks. A waitress swept up to their table, swinging a heavily laden tray in their direction.

“Nachos??” she eagerly exploded.  The couple regarded each other bemusedly.

“Nope. Not ours.”

Litter

As soon as I clean out the box

one of them leaves a deposit.

Fireworks

The couple meandered down the boardwalk, taking in all the sights as they waited for the beachside fireworks display to begin.

“Do you want to get a towel so we can sit on the beach and watch them?” he asked  innocently.

“This is a pretty good spot right here,” she replied, leaning her folded arms across the metal railing on the stone wall.  They had a perfect view right out over the water and away from the crowd.

“But watching them from the beach will be cool. C’mon, let’s go.”  He started moving away.

“Well, not for nothing, but I’m thinking that it’ll be crowded wherever we sit down there, and I really don’t want to get sand in my underwear,” she answered. “OK?”  She didn’t mean to be a no-funster, but it seemed more trouble than it was worth. “Besides, we’re closer to the car here, and we’ll have  a better chance at beating the hordes when we leave.”  Let’s be practical, she thought.

“But that’s what the towel is for!  I want to sit as close as possible,” he persisted. “Let’s watch them from the beach. Come on.”  Next to them, a grandmother was micro-supervising her grandchildren. They were whacking each other with plastic light-up swords.

“We’re AT the beach!” she said, a little impatiently. “How much closer are we REALLY gonna get?”

Barbecuey

The couple were reminiscing about a certain BBQ joint they had enjoyed in the early years of their dating, before it was torn down and rebuilt as a slick, stylish, upscale (at least in its own mind) place. It used to have a run-down charm, now it was filled with yuppies. They were both bemoaning and lamenting this fact, and also that the menu had completely been altered to cater to this new clientele.

“The only thing I didn’t like about the old place was the music. There was always this one guy with a patchy beard who would play Journey on the jukebox the whole time. When I eat ribs, I want to hear something a bit more barbecuey,” he complained.

“Barbecuey?” she asked dubiously.

AC

“Darling, could you roll up your window?” he sweetly asked as they drove down the highway. It was July, ninety and sunny. “Sure,” she obliged.

Moments passed. The sun glared through the windows, and the puffy cumulous clouds appeared not the notice the heat.  She really wished she hadn’t left her sunglasses at the restaurant, and it was turning into a terrarium in here.

“Are you turning on the AC?” she prompted, after about a minute.

“Uh, I don’t really think it even works,” he replied, fiddling with the knob.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m finding it’s a little stuffy.”  Down rolled both their windows.  Was that annoyance in her voice, he wondered.