After we ate our fare, suspiciously eyeing the gang of seagulls shiftily circling our picnic table, we delved into the Baby Name Wizard to continue our quest for the perfect girl's name. Chortling at gems such as "Essence" and "Ethel", we finally hit upon a name that struck a chord with both mommy and daddy. The name stuck with us the rest of the weekend and it appears to be a front runner for our little monkey.
We stayed late at the beach, hoping to catch the Perseid meteor shower, but the brightness of the Moon dashed any hope for a show. Babydaddy went off to piddle against a wall and thinking I could sneak a peak at his junk, I wandered over to glimpse over the wall. A strategically placed hole in the ground thwarted my attempt and I tripped, crushing my ulna and the cookies I was carrying. I scared Babydaddy and cried a bit, mostly because of the cookies.
On our way home, post-failed attempt to view the meteor shower, we were sailing down Highway 8 when something hit the side of Babydaddy's car. We were both startled, but it wasn't until we reached the city that I realized a reddish substance was dripping down my window. "I think it's blood! Maybe a bird hit the car," I said. We laughed that perhaps a severed head had hit the car, but upon arrival at home, realized someone had shot our car with a paintball. SHOT. PAINTBALL. Seriously.
Babydaddy turned into Papa Bear and started making threats to the unknown culprits for potentially endangering the life of his babymama and unborn child -admittedly that shot to the head would've hurt like a sumbitch. I appreciate his protective nature and helped wipe up the mess, after snapping a photo (to be posted!)
The mishaps of our well-intended evening just made for a more memorable celebration. "Remember that time you tried to look at my dink..."
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