We didn't know their names, but they were no friends of ours.If I thought dragging Seth out of bed on Saturday was bad, Sunday morning was even worse. Breakfast-- albeit delicious as it was (quiche, fresh fruit and a muffin to die for)-- had been pushed back to 8 a.m. to accommodate some other departing guests. Yuck.
While the older ladies chatted and chatted in their touristy t-shirts they had clearly picked up at the beach the day before, Seth and I remainesilent, save for a grunt or two when I wanted the butter.
And then it happened. Our happy bubble of morning silence was broken.
Another couple joined us.
Seth and I often joke about the differences in our personalities from where we grew up. I'm fast. Doesn't matter if I'm walking, eating, or going to the bathroom. In, out, boom, it's done. Seth is more leisurely in how he goes about things. He stops and smells the roses from time to time. I often times forget that roses even exist.
Chatting with the couple across from us at the breakfast table was like looking in a mirror. She was from the South. He had more Yankee roots. She was spontaneous and took her time. He was all about planning and didn't waste any time getting things done. We swapped stories, identifying perfectly with each other's woes and frustrations.
One of the surprises Seth gave me over the weekend was a book on how to speak Southern. I don't think I'll ever completely master it, but I'm sure beginning to understand that just a couple hundred miles sure can make a big difference.
Pass the sweet tea please.
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