James and I finally got to the point where we had to leave town. We needed to slow down. We needed to eat our meals seaside. We needed to be somewhere off-season and sleepy.
That said, we fled the Land of Zero Downtime for the Cape this weekend, packing the babies off on what was probably the most hyped sleepover in recent history. However, any separation anxiety they had ahead of our departure evaporated amid promises of "surprises" upon our return and a casual mention of Build-A-Bear being on the babysitting agenda.
We headed out to the Crowne Point Inn & Spa in P-Town, absolutely agog at the prospect of sitting slack-jawed in a steam room and soaking ourselves in a mineral tub for a couple of days. These days, just showering without interruption is enough to get me into a lather, but I was able to squeeze in a massage and a sea salt scrub too. We were even able to indulge in some ancient rituals like napping, reading and watching the Red Sox without TiVo.
Other things that happened:
-Excessive Buddha statues all around the property -- including a massive one squatting in the garden just outside our room --- reminded us to pause. We did. Mostly to gawk and comment on the exorbitant amount of Buddha statues.
-At the spa, we were greeted by John, who would be the spitting image of Philip Seymour Hoffman if Phillip Seymour Hoffman was excrutiatingly groomed. He batted his eyelashes at us from behind the reception desk: "Name, please?" I told him my name. He smiled and peered at James. "So this would be Farrah or Bosley?"
He fetched us some robes and flip-flops. I took off my rancid sneakers that I’ve had for way too long. They're already a total eye sore but because I'd walked through a few puddles on the way to the spa, they were bringing that soggy sneaker smell.
John picked up my sneakers as if they were two dead birds. “ I’ll take these. They’re sucking the Zen out of this whole place.”
-On an EPB recommendation (thanks), we headed to The Mews for dinner. The restaurant was waterfront, our table windowfront right on the beach. The open-air doors were rattling and you could sense the season about to bust wide open -- I can't wait to go back over the summer. On the cocktail menu, there were about 100 vodkas from all over the world from which to choose. Our waitress, very schooled in booze, suggested the Blavod Black Vodka -- some flavorless Burmese herb actually turns the vodka black-- which was not only cool but yummy in a way that won't kill you.
The waitress neglected to mention, however, that the vodka was 40 percent alcohol, so after one bowl of loudmouth soup, Jimmy looked like this.
All told, P-Town was the perfect getaway in its off-season glory. While many restaurants and popular shops like "Spank the Monkey" – weren’t open yet, we found surprises (and fudge) for those who made this minibreak possible and hung onto our newfound relaxation for about 15 minutes upon returning home. The babies, in a record performance, went on an absolute tear this evening. Payback. The glassy eyes and creased forehead are back. My shoulders hurt.