As a nice first anniversary surprise, Angelface got us a flight to the Keys and a room at the Doubletree. Consistent with most of our adventures, it was pretty fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants. I got Key West gorgeous (in a flesh-bearing, flower print halter) and had my bags packed within two hours. I wasn’t sure if I’d love the Keys, but I did know one thing: I’d been to the Doubletree a time or two and they have the Best. Cookies. Ever. If nothing else, I was pretty sure I could spend two days in a hotel room, sitting in my skivvies, giggling from a sugar high, yelling, “bring on the tooth decay beyotch!” as I gulped down cookie, after oh so delicious cookie.

I’m sure my dentist would be pleased to hear that.

But anyway, it turns out Key West is da bomb. Even before you leave the airport, you’re having fun. A Rastafari and his bleach blonde companion adorned my neck with mardi gras beads and welcomed me to the island right away. As I got out to the street I saw pink taxi cabs and steel drummers. Everybody was talking about the night’s big event – The Lobster Festival.

The Lobster Festival is this crazy downtown street fair where – you guessed it –you can find lobster done up twenty different ways. They had lobster pastries, lobster dumplings, lobster kabobs, lobster tempura and lobster tails cooking on big makeshift grills positioned, literally, in the middle of the street.

That night I also saw:

* A man, slumped over his folding chair, wearing a funny hat, but looking rather gruff holding a sign that said “Dirty Jokes $1. (I need beer).”

* A dog, wearing fuchsia running shorts walking a tightrope. At the same time his trainer, an older gent in a tie-dye t-shirt and ten gallon cowboy hat, tried to get pretty girls to tie him up.

* More Rastafarians. One band featured five guys with dreads down to their ankles. The keyboardist looked suspiciously like Jerry Garcia, and I wondered if it’s true that deadheads never die, they just fade away… and join a reggae band in the Keys.

* A real-life Harry Houdini. He heckled Angelface and then made the ‘Face bind him up in chains and foist him into the air upside down!

Seriously, I can’t make this stuff up.

On our way to breakfast the next morning I saw two nuns on vespas waiting at a stop light. As I got closer I realized those weren’t really nuns, just two gay men dressed in habits. As the light turned green, the Ambiguously Gay Duo sped away, their habits flying behind them as they shouted, “Circle the wagons, ladies!”

And that’s when I knew… Key West is my kind of town. I highly recommend it and can’t wait to go back for the kooks, conchs, and keylime pie.

——————
The Secret is *not* that I’m wearing my underwear inside out, because I am. So it’s not a secret anymore.

Posted in Angelface, Food, Mixed Bag