I'd forgotten since college. You can't just buy booze here whenever you want. I tried. Jesse was going to the grocery store to get bread, so it seemed the perfect opportunity.
"Oh, great." I chimed in. "I'll go with you and pick up some wine."
J and S both looked at me like I was nuts.
"Bethela. How long's it been? You can't buy wine at the grocery store."
"Oh yeah. Well, let's go to the beer place. Shane, you want beer anyway."
"Uh, hello?" They said in unison, as if I was some idiot off the street. "You can't buy beer and wine at the same place."
Ah yes. Pennsylvania. If you want beer, you go to the beer/soda/water place. If you want wine, you go to the liquor store. If you want a loaf of bread, some butter and a box of tampons, you go to the Wawa.
I'm amazed I didn't need a passport.
Nor is any libation available on Sundays and holidays. Isn't that the whole point of Sundays and holidays? I thought so, too.
We spent today with Jesse's mom, while Shane toiled away at his firm. (he's currently leaning over my shoulder...) We enjoyed fancy ladies lunch and extensive shopping, as well as a visit with Brian, a friend from college who gave us a tour of his amazing office. We returned home where Shane joined us on the back porch. The three of us marveled at fireflies and drank while having a marvelous dinner and 4 hour conversation about many things I won't be able to remember.
It's hot and humid, thus much of our time is spent lounging outdoors while downing Yuengling (the local beer) and having intense discussions about careers and hopes and dreams and bad dates. (okay, the latter is all me.)
It's good to get out of the big city, and while I always enjoy the family vacations at fancy hotels in fancy countries, there's something to be said for crashing in your best friends' guest room in suburban Philadelphia, gorging yourself on wine and memories, thanking god you're not at work, not at home, and even not at the Monkey Club...