PIT STOP . . .

I have to head out in a couple of minutes, but after a weekend away from Bob, it was all I could do to not hug and kiss him until oblivion the moment I stepped across my threshold. I have returned from the Red Sox Country, where the ferry loads up with scads of the elderly discussing the differences between the Block Island Ferry and the ferry between Tangiers and Corsica (or something like that), where nobody drives or revs their little rented mopeds faster than 25 miles per hour, where weatherbeaten grey-shingled houses stand proudly and defiantly against the eroded yet still graceful bluffs, where a small package of no-name bacon costs $5.99, where "the water is warm this time of year" means it's 45 degrees cold, where a one-bedroom shanty sells for nigh on a million dollars, where the tap water has that lovely retreat-center chlorine-y sulfur-y stank, and where none of a home's windows have shades on them because the sunlight is just too beautiful to even think about blocking out. But truly, Block Island is so fun, and you should all give it a try. I tried to convince my Ladies to put down a deposit NOW for a house NEXT year, but no one was biting ...

Then, on the way home, I hit traffic on I-95 between exits 15 and 11, just about when my morning orange juice and large coffee started to catch up with me. I tempted fate and thought I could make it home, but no. Had to stop at the local Super Stop & Shop and scurry pigeon-toed to the ladies' room, which naturally was located in the farthest corner from me. And what is it about holding pee for an hour that makes it come out slower? Someone once told me it's a muscle thing, but I think it's like when you buy one of those big Poland Spring water dispensers, and you have to poke a hole in the top to make the water come out faster from the bottom.

Fortunately, I arrived with enough down time to unpack, sort my mail, put up my feet and clean out my inboxes. Why I keep getting advertisements for Viagra, I'll never know ...

N.B.: I am often facetious, but truly, Block Island is beautiful. Don't go there, because you'll just make it crowded for the rest of us, but I and mine might have to become snooty B.I. addicts. The beaches, the people, the horizon, the sky, the quaint ferries, the breeze, the sunshine, the fish n' chips, even the overpriced groceries ... there's nothing not to love. Except for the fact that it's Red Sox Country. BRING 'EM ON. We'll kick your collective asses again.