The next day we started early with mimosas and breakfast danishes before our trip to the shops. The morning was a bit overcast so we walked around the shops, admired all the Florida themed critter pants and visors, and then went to lunch.
After nearly all of us ordered the amazing Crabmeat Flatbread, the table was all smiles and throwing back another round of drinks.
All smiles…get it? HA. I know, Grandma joke. Let’s move on.
We sat out by the pool since the weather cleared up and then went back to the condo to prepare for a night in Fernandina.
On the trip to Fernandina, Stacey continued her tour and told us how the town was the same place Pippi Longstocking was filmed. There was some debate on who Pippi Longstocking was and it was confirmed that Soleil Moon Frye was not related to the pigtail girl and in fact that was an entirely separate show in an entirely separate decade. It was time for another drink.
Walking the streets of Fernandina, we ended up at a cafe with outdoor seating and an acoustic guitar player. Sangria pitchers were ordered and all was well until this guy showed up:
This cat absolutely terrorized every girl at the table and we soon realized it was sort of a pet at the restaurant and we were in fact the only ones shrieking every time the damn cat walked by. We left the restaurant for a dive bar down the road and the bar happened to have a dog roaming around. Instead of being horrified, we took photos, petted him, and encouraged his every move. Hey, cat lovers we are not. Besides, I don’t trust anyone who has eyes that glow in the dark. I also don’t trust anyone who isn’t on Facebook but that’s another post for another day.
The bartender was nice and chatted with us about our vacation weekend. We passed around sake bombs, beers and wine (quite the diverse group) before jumping in the van back to the condo. There might have been more talk about Pippi Longstocking on the way back, but my memory is a bit foggy.
Day three kicked off with the inflation of an cartoon penis and the unwrapping of penis straws. Hey, we might be sipping mimosas by the pool with senior citizens but this was still a bachelorette party. Carrie slipped on her Bride hat and we went back to the pool club to secure our spots for the day.
Drinks were flowing more than usual on this day and I’m pretty sure our group drank every ounce of pinot grigio that the bar owned.
That night we pregamed at the condo with John Dalys and watched the Kentucky Derby. Dinner was all sorts of fabulous and I learned what was ahead of me when Carrie’s cousin revealed that her nickname was “Liver Terminator.” Moving on to the bar, we opened the bar’s doors only to see we were basically the only ones there. That didn’t stop us from claiming nearly 10 bar stools (there were only 7 of us) and ordering rounds of Red Headed Sluts (Carrie’s favorite shot).
The girls took over the jukebox playing a mix of Justin Timberlake and Elton John. The Liver Terminator herself was not impressed with this mix but numbed the pain with a few more glasses of wine. Conversation flowed from breast reduction surgery to Taylor Swift impressions to Carrie’s strong attraction for R&B superstar Usher.
We closed the bar that night and somehow Carrie, the bachelorette, was one of the only sober ones in the group. I’m not sure how many bachelorette parties end with the bachelorette being the DD. I think somewhere along the ride home my boss might have called Carrie and I and I think we may have abruptly hung up the phone due to the confusion of piling 7 girls into an SUV (side note for my mom: we were only driving about a mile through the compound to the condo).
There was a heated debate on whether to go to bed or to jump in the pool. The Liver Terminator announced, “Girls, I don’t know whether or not to go into the pool or to go to bed and I’ll be honest I’m really considering what to do right now.” No one heard her or responded. She went to bed.
Towels, blankets and the inflatable penis were all retrieved for the night swim. I was wrapped in a blanket in a chair while the others took the plunge. I didn’t participate but I did clap and tell Lindsay what a good job she did handing out towels to the freezing swimmers. That should count for something.
We crawled back to bed and my roommate for the night, Nicole, announced, “Well Christine our wild night is over.” On that note we put on our white noise sleep machine and quickly fell asleep.
The next morning we were able to hit the beach for a few hours before getting on the flight home. I didn’t get frisked in security but we did pass through the tall scanners rather than the metal detectors. Carrie won’t go through the scanner because of the radiation and gave me a stern lecture on how I should do the same since I travel often. Stacey was excited to pass through the machine, commenting on how it looked like a small space ship and kept telling the TSA officer how impressed she was with today’s technology. (I’m hysterically laughing as I recall her reaction and Patrick is sitting next to me wondering why I find myself so funny).
The ride home was easy but the plane was small so it was a bit bumpy at times. Carrie assured us during the landing that even though it was bumpy we were so close to the ground we probably wouldn’t die. She is truly the perfect person to soothe one’s travel fears.
It was a bittersweet homecoming, just like any other vacation, and definitely a trip worth repeating in the future.
Amelia Island, you’ve got my vote. Next time I’ll bring more Firefly Sweet Tea vodka.