Yesterday, for a happy family occasion, my husband and I made a day trip down to my hometown of Wareham, Massachusetts. (And this is where my dad would want me to tell you he went to school with Geena Davis.) Anyway, we had a nice time and we’re hoping to go back with the kids for several days next year.
A brief tangent: My husband’s GPS, which I scornfully refer to as the Broad-in-a-Box, pronounces Wareham as WEAR-um. I didn’t throw her out the window, though I wanted to. As to why his GPS is named Broad-in-a-Box, or B.B., it stems from the day I got into a very heated argument with the device over directions and, when my husband laughed, I yelled at him that I wasn’t “taking any shit from a broad in a box”. Yes, I argue with inanimate objects more often than I should probably admit. End tangent.
Anyway, a couple of photos from yesterday’s trip.
The landmark that I most associate with the word home—The Buzzards Bay railroad bridge over the Cape Cod Canal:
Of course, to end the day with a bang, my husband and stepmom decided to return through Boston instead of going around like we did on the way down, so I got the Greatest Fears Double Whammy: A tunnel that opens right onto a bridge. Thanks, guys.