Pickled or Stewed?

I've returned from the long weekend in the mountains with the entourage of friends known as the bracelet girls. It was a good time, especially once Mrs. Y got over the "wait, wait, wait, a minute. We really are staying in a cabin in the mountains? Huh?"

I'm not sure if I'm pickled from the copious amounts of wine consumed or stewed from the countless hours spent in the hot tub into the wee hours of the night.

We dined on pasta and had wine with chocolates, grapes, and strawberries. Ok fine, by Sunday morning Mrs. S and I were drinking white zinfandel out of a box, and eating oreos and canned squeeze cheese on crackers. Yes, we are a class act. Of course, you already knew that about her.

When we weren't wine tasting (yes, that's what it was, wine tasting) we were entertained chit chatting and playing catch-up on our lives. We also hiked a couple of trails, spent time at the lake, and shopped a little one evening (where I got a navy and cream sailor striped shirt at the Gap for a whopping $1.97. Thank you, thank you very much!).

Oh, and Mrs. S had a fabulous quote one day. But I've forgotten it. If you've read above, then I'm sure you understand.