The Nixons at the George Washington Inn

"Honey, next month will be the date we started
dating thirty years ago. April 11th."
I looked over at my husband and thought,
"You're such a tyrant, seems like 30,000."
Just kidding. We have had mostly fun times together.
I said, "We ought to stay at that B&B I saw in the
paper last month out at Sequim." Since he likes
to go but can't plan, I made the reservations
and off we went. Thanks to global warming,
Washington is no longer the miserable mud pit
we grew up in and the weather was sunny and warm.
When we walked in the door of the George Washington
Bed and Breakfast Inn, our jaws dropped,
not because two nights cost more than my first car,
but at the sight of the curved staircase
and historical replicas filling the place.
The owner, Janet, took us to our private entrance.
I pointed to the small door plate and Terry's
eyes twinkled at, "The Presidential Suite."
When we got upstairs and she opened the door
to the balcony, we were stunned. The bright blue
Straight of Juan De Fuca swept below our cliff-side
room as a bald eagle sailed by at eye level.
We decided to hike the fourteen mile round trip
hike to the Dungeness Spit light house in the morning.
As we got ready, I saw Terry putting on his new
boat shoes I had bought him. "Say honey, wouldn't
you like to wear your comfy sneakers on the hike?"
I asked gently. Five hours later, as I applied
some old bandaids to his huge blister he said,
"I can't make it any further with this huge blister."
I smiled and said, "I couldn't make it in the first place,
let's go back." I meant it too. We were at mile five
and I was dying. We went down to the water in preparation
to turn around as three thirty-something girls came
down the beach. Terry said, "How was the lighthouse?"
"The tides coming in so we turned around. You'll
never make it." I looked at Terry and while he smiled
at them I could see the fire in his eyes and
smoke pouring out his ears. It was like they had
waved a red flag in front of his Taurus the bull self.
I accepted that I would be tortured the final two miles in
and seven miles back and smiled at him and kept going.

(Terry is the only person I know who would be
tough enough to hike seven miles on beach pebbles
in bare feet to finish the hike.)