Okay, a few months ago I promised that I wouldn’t write any more blogs about our house in Cape May.
Technically, however, the house is no longer our house. So I’m really just writing about A house in Cape May. Not MY house.
This weekend, it became painfully obvious that it wasn’t my house anymore.
I’m so not into cute.
(Note: those same tour guides will tell you that whenever there are three or more houses that look alike, they were built by some generous father for his three/four/five daughters. I often wonder if tour guides 100 years from now will say that as they drive through the suburban neighborhoods that surround Baltimore. “And these 30 identical houses were built by a very fertile father for his 30 daughters.” For the record, usually when houses look alike they were built by a hotel or railroad to house their employees. But that’s not as romantic.)
Anyway, we called the house the Sayre House, after the first recorded owner.
And we joked about having one of our friends dress up in an old bridal gown and wave to the trolley as it drove by.
Did I mention that our first choice for this role was Birdman? (Yes, the same Birdman that I explained had no renovation skills but did his part by making us laugh. You can see his fan page here.)
So, this weekend, before we went to Cape May, my husband called Bird and asked if he was still into dressing up like a bride.
Was he ever into it.
See for yourself: