Boarding school

This is how I know I have an easy marriage: one of the most difficult things I've had to do is explain to Jamie the whole world of Jimmy Buffet, Margaritaville, Parrotheads, etc. Every explanation I've offered up makes them sound like beach bums or stoners, which isn't quite right. My brother probably said it best when he suggested imagining Florida as a person. Thank God he's familiar with Guy Fieri, wouldn't even know where to start with that.

This weekend we're heading out to the coast to visit his (Jamie's, not Jimmy's) old boarding school. One of the more defining things in my life is that I wasn't allowed to read or watch that devil Harry Potter as a child, so I have NO idea what to expect. One of the more defining things in Jamie's life was going to boarding school. I find the idea of it all a bit horrifying - sending your child off during their most formative years? - but Jamie assures me they were the most character-building, fun years of his life. They're clearly doing something right, because he knows more about most anything than me. And I try not to focus on the fact that his boarding school friends are always the first ones to take off their shirts on the dance floor at weddings or that the Wikipedia entry for boarding school has entire sections dedicated to sociological and psychological issues.

But here I go, attacking it before I even understand it! I solemnly swear (and I think that's a Harry Potter reference - see me, trying?) that I will go into the experience and to see it as objectively as possible. And it's not like I can defend the American public school system right now.

Other weekend activities: pub dinner, tromping about the countryside in wellies, and wishing I'd have packed better (one of these is not like the others).