savannah or bust

The birthday surprise?  A road trip to Savannah, Georgia.  As I was waiting for Tim outside his work, the hotel called my cell phone and asked if we wanted to upgrade to a suite, free of charge.  Let me pause to consider tha…. YES.  The timing could not have been more perfect.  Tim walks out of work, I hang up the phone, suite in my back pocket and off we go.  He knew we were going to Savannah once we started going south…because he knew I wouldn’t take him to Florida after our Cape Canaveral experience.

Once we got into downtown Savannah, we checked into the Marshall House.  The they put us in the Juliette Low Suite and we walked in to balloons and a card signed by the staff for Tim – which even I was not expecting.  They warned me ahead of time a wedding reception would be taking place in the courtyard outside of our window…that kept Tim up last night until about 10:30…but it was a suite and…well it was a suite.

And let me say, this is the drinkingest city I have ever seen.  We felt like we were doing something inappropriate because we didn’t have something alcoholic in hand while walking down the street.

On Friday night I had a Creepy Pub Crawl Ghost Tour arranged.  Tim and I went to eat at B&D Burgers and then headed off the Six Pence Pub (haunted by Larry the ghost – which will be important later)- the meeting place for the tour.  Tim and I ordered our one and only beer at the pub because we were a little early and I told him he needed to be slightly buzzed for the upcoming activity.  We started making fun of two people getting a little touchy-feely at the bar – personal space had definitely been breached and someone was laying it on THICK.

I had Tim thinking all sorts of interesting things regarding his birthday night activity…pole dancing, stripping naked and running though the streets…because I wouldn’t tell him what it was until I introduced myself to the tour guide, Greg.

Once Tim figured out what we were doing he looked at me like I was crazy.  I was like, “What’s wrong??  I thought you loved this kind of stuff!?”  Tim follows with a shaky, “Only on TV where they can’t get you.  You thought I was nervous before.”  Then he asks, “Do you even know what a pub crawl is?”  I said no.  Hindsight says I should have researched that.

About fifteen minutes and a million people later, we were all strolling down a street, looking for ghosts – everyone with beer in hand except Tim and I.  We had to stop at one point to wait for a car and two people passed by the group, walking almost on top of each other.  Tim and I almost burst out laughing when we saw who it was.  None other than the personal space invaders we saw at Six Pence.  Whatever line he threw out, she bought it.

The tour continued.  A kid – probably about 21 – farted.  We keep walking.  I repeated to Tim what Greg had said about something called a ‘dagger bush’ and was immediately corrected by a tipsy lady in front of us who turned around and said, “It’s called a DA-GER bush.”  My bad.  Hard to hear over all the shouting.  We stopped at the next bar and a cop patrolling the place was tasked by a girl with the farty kid to take a picture of them and their friends.

By this point Tim and I were trying to figure out how to disappear from the group.  We don’t drink…we don’t smoke…and there were no ghosts.  We followed the group to the third bar – which was slightly more challenging, as walking and alcohol don’t exactly mix.  We stood near the door and kept taking a tiny steps backwards until we were outside.  We decided we’d become one of Greg’s stories – a couple on his tour were abducted by ghosts never to be seen again.

The next day was spent walking the streets of Savannah.  By the time we made it to Forsyth Park Tim’s feet were on fire.  To help ease the pain, he uses a tennis ball called “tuff ball” to roll around and stretch out the tendons on the bottom of his feet.  We bought them for Maddie but he has benefited from their double use.  I offered to go buy a tennis ball but he said he doubted we could find a Tough Ball.  We were sitting on a bench and lamenting that we did not have one and then noticed a lone tennis ball with no owner on a bench to our left.  After awhile I decided I was going to get it – it was better than no tennis ball.

As I walked over to it, I noticed the writing.  I shook my head in disbelief.  A Tuff Ball tennis ball – of all places.  I started laughing and Tim shouted from the bench, “There is no way that is what I think it is.”  I picked up the ball, walked back over, plopped down next to him and handed him the ball.  A Tuff Ball.

The chance of that happening was near impossible.  In a park of ten acres…the one bench we pick…and a Tough Ball to boot.  We decided it was Larry.  It was his way for apologizing for the drunken tour the previous night.

That pretty much topped the weekend.  If we didn’t believe in ghosts before, we do now.  At least our encounter was a nice, friendly one.  Like Casper…only more invisible.

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