We arrived thirty minutes early to the private waterfront residence, allowing us a bit of time to sightsee.
It didn't take either of us long to soak up the pretty Charleston lifestyle and to fall in love with two or three-story large homes with long wooden porches offering ceiling fans, rocking chairs, and swings; shaded neighborhood streets with moss-draped, large deciduous trees; and water, water, everywhere. There were hammocks in the front yards at every other home, indicative of sweet, relaxed living.
The bridal shower was perfectly planned.
All very proper.
The hostesses were gracious and oozed with the southern hospitality we all adore.
This marvelous home faced the harbor and I had a difficult time resisting the view that kept calling me from behind. I sort of felt like a child in school tortured by something irresistible in the back of the classroom…
The gifts were fine, the young and older women were giddy and entertaining, everything was beautiful, and the bride-to-be was glowing. Lea.
I sat on that lovely porch having a lovely time, turned around, held my camera to my face, gazed at what there was beyond the screen, and pictured myself in flip flops strolling along down that long pier… For a moment, or for an hour, I wanted to cry out loud,
May I be excused, please?