Fuck you, Boston

This is a tale of the worst vacation ever.
We should have seen it coming. After all, we've had horrible weather in every other city we've visited this year, including riding out a tropical depression along the Gulf Coast that flooded the island we were staying on and buried our car in sand and surf. See?

Washington, D.C.? Cold and rainy. Chicago? Rainy and cold. The beach? Flooding, wind, rain, evacuation. You get the picture.

So why would Boston be different? We just had no clue what Beantown had in store for us.
First, our flight was delayed leaving Atlanta, which meant we arrived in Boston at 2 a.m. We had a bike tour scheduled for the next day, but we decided to postpone it because of the nasty weather. We spent the day walking around, avoiding downpours by running into stores. That night, we went to the Braves-Red Sox game at Fenway, where the Bravos absolutely ruled. (Woot!) The rain held off during the game, but this was my view during the game from my "partially obstructed" seat.

The next day dawned gloriously sunny. We nabbed a ridiculously expensive rental car and headed for Plymouth to attend a wedding. We didn't have time to see much of the town before the ceremony, but we did see a rather disappointing rock that played some importance in our country's founding. Big lot of hooey, it is.

The wedding was gorgeous, and we met some really awesome people at the reception while dancing the night away. Plus, they had an ice cream sundae bar. Mmmm!

Back to the tragedy.

We woke up the next morning to biting wind and a nasty misting rain. So much for touring Plymouth. Back in the car to Boston, where the roads are so confusing that it took us an hour to find our hotel right across from Harvard. You've heard of Harvard, right? Google Maps seems to be confused as to where it is. Or, at least, the GPS in our iPhones seemed to be confused about where we were in relationship to Harvard. Arg. More rain, more walking, more wet feet and cold. Cambridge is cool, but I'd rather see it when my extremities are dry.

The next morning was just as disgusting. We decide to take that bike tour anyway, as it was our last day in Boston and we didn't want to eat the tickets. About five minutes into the tour, I fell off the bike, skinning up my hand and knee on Beacon Hill. Awesome.

I got back up, hopped on my bike and continue with the 10-mile tour (after some first aid). Ouchy ouch ouch. By the end of the ride, we were cold and very, very wet. My hand, wrist and knee ached. We walked around the North End neighborhood for a while and grabbed some tasty pasta for lunch, where Hot Pants promptly dumped a full glass of Diet Coke all over himself.

Determined to make the best of it, we headed back out into the rain to see about the Institute of Contemporary Art's Shepard Fairey exhibit. I noticed my ankle and foot starting to hurt, but I chalked it up to my hugging the sidewalk earlier. After a mile and a half trudging through the rain, we discovered the ICA was closed. It's Monday. Fuck.

We grabbed a cab and headed for Cheers, where I gleefully bought a pair of dry socks to relieve my feet of their misery. At this point, I was kind of limping from the ankle pain. The more I walked, the worse it got and before long, I could barely walk. Fuck.

Finally, we decided to just head for the airport, where was now hopping on my one good foot and cussing under my breath. We checked to see what gate we were leaving from, only to discover that our flight was delayed for FOUR HOURS. This was where I announced really loudly that I hate Boston. No longer able to walk at all, I sent HP off to find a wheelchair. Turns out you can get checked in and through airport security really quickly if one person in your party is in a wheelchair. That's great, unless you're at Logan airport, where the AirTran terminal has absolutely nothing but a small newsstand and you're stuck there for, I don't know, FOUR HOURS.

I had to elevate my ankle, so I ended up lying on the floor with my foot up in the chair, showing the entire world my Cheers socks. We finally arrived home at midnight, never more glad to see our cat-hair infested home. I'm sure Boston is great, but I'm not really interested in going back any time soon.