Making Whine With Sour Grapes

With my 12 year old's birthday in the dumpster, and my soon to be 7 year old's crammed back into my suitcase, we searched for one hotel and then another, and I wondered if we might have been better off strapping down our mattresses on top of the car like the lunatics we saw on Highway 101 the previous day.

Teetering on the edge of mental illness myself, I entertained several more happy thoughts aloud in the car. The first being that we were about to slap down another couple grand for TWO rather small rooms, since putting us up three in a bed might have raised a red flag or two at Guest Services...or would it? But the peanut gallery was protesting again. Secondly, the reality of having hotel accommodations meant we'd be eating three meals out every day instead of dining in (I didn't have the heart to tell them that our credit card was going to deny our third meal). And thirdly, I was unable to shake off the comment our waitress made the previous night when she spoke under her breath about the river.

"Some people do (eyes narrowing), but I've lived here over three years now and I'd NEVER swim in it."


And the signs. Was it even safe to drink the water?
















Definitely a message here. Let's see. How about this one: "Wake Up Sonoma. The floodgates of hell are about to burst open."

To be continued...

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