Last weekend was, by definition, a long one. So we celebrated that great Canadian holiday (Victoria Day) by driving to America. Our friends Pete and Nic live there with their less-than-one-year-old boy, Harper, and we hadn't seen them since Holly's wedding. We spent the weekend shopping, driving, playing with Harper, driving, and looking for a place to park. Don't get me wrong: we had fun, but the fun was had with friends, and not particularly with Seattle. For being a haven for all things hipster and cool, the city itself is a pain in the ass.
Remember, though, that I'm not from Seattle. I've spent a grand total of 20 days there, so I probably just don't know where to go. The fact remains, though, that to get anywhere, you need to drive: the market downtown, Alki Beach, Ballard, Capitol Hill--none are within walking distance of each other. We spent almost as much money on parking as we did on gas.
That being said, we had a great time. Dakin cooked amazing hamburgers for us on Sunday night, and we managed to find some wonderful little shops. On the drive home, we stopped for pizza just outside Bellingham. And after that Ami got her first Wal-Mart experience. I showed her that, indeed, they do sell firearms there. Yet after a small debate, we bought tennis racquets instead.
At the border (need I remind you how they make me feel), I was worried about all the shopping we'd done. You're supposed to declare anything over a certain amount ($50, I think), and we'd spent about $500. The rules are to hand over the receipts, and pay some taxes. However, viewing this as a ridiculous restriction, I decided to flout it, and ripped off all the price tags, threw away receipts, and stuffed as much as I could in my suitcase (amazing how small you can squish pillows).
The border guard asks me when we drive up, "did you do any shopping?" I answer with a straight face, "Yes. . . we bought tennis racquets at Wal Mart." She giggled and waved me through. You see? I didn't even have to lie.
So why do I get the feeling that one day it will all catch up with me and manifest as one gimonstrous, epic fail.
Check out the pictures from our trip.
1 comment:
Ya know, I think I have at least one of your tennis rackets in my garage still. If only you could have waited until Christmas to play tennis, you could have saved yourself some stress at the Canadian border.
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