Thus Vacation Ends...

There is truly no place like home. While the Jersey Shore was lots of fun, it is nice to be back in my own hovel. OK, that is not entirely true. I do love the comforts of my own home, but at the same time, being back in to the old routine during the week is going to suck. Sure, the parts of the old routine that involve hanging out with friends and fam works great, but it also works a bit better when you are all on vacation together.

It was time to go home anyway. Friday afternoon my eye started to swell up and pus began oozing out of it. By Friday night, it swelled half shut. Husband also had bloodshot red eyes and eye boogers, so we stopped at the urgent care clinic first thing in the morning. The doctor confirmed our suspicions that we had conjunctivitis, aka “Pink Eye.”

We went back to the house, finished packing everything up, and then dropped the prescription off at the pharmacy. The wait time was an hour. We attempted to get food with The Explorer, but all the diners were overflowing since it was Saturday at peak brunch hours. Also, it seems that tonight is “A Night in Venice” in Ocean City, which entails some sort of beauty pageant and other “festivities,” so it was even more crowded than usual. After waiting 40 minutes for take out, we went back to the drugstore for our eye drops. At least my eye seemed less droopy after I finally got some medicine in it.

The next obstacle was traffic. I am not even sure what caused the back up, although Brother-in-Law left before us and said that an accident had clogged traffic on the Garden State Parkway. By the time we followed his tire tracks 90 minutes later, there were no signs of any accident, but even worse traffic. Madness.

All the traffic made the “rest” stop anything but. Husband was able to use the facilities, but the line for the women’s bathrooms was looping around the building. It was hot, dirty, and I knew that I would pee myself before I got to a toilet, so we took off. (I felt like I had to endure only a fraction of what the Hurricane Katrina victims were forced to live in, and it makes me even sicker to think how our government could fuck up like that.) Husband pulled off a mile later at the next exit and we drove aimlessly for a few minutes in stunning Berkley, NJ. When a VFW came into sight, I knew that relief was at hand. There was some sort of picnic/banquet party taking place, so I figured I could blend in and slip into the bathroom unnoticed.

Part of my plan worked. I was able to use their ill-lighted women’s room, but I don’t think I was unnoticed. I was definitely the only person under the age of 50 with a droopy, oozing red eye. Still, no one said anything, so who cares?

The rest of the ride was uneventful, until we stopped at a gas station in Manhattan and a tow truck nearly backed into us. Seeing the corner of flatbed speeding at my face was a bit terrifying, I admit. Thank god for the Berkley, NJ VFW or the front seat of our rental car would definitely be in less than returnable condition. Then we were home, and so it goes.