Family Vacations are All the Rage

Not really.

I mean, the house is big enough, I'm managing to steal WIFI from some nearby provider, the kids have gone back to their actual home with their parents, which means the incessant cartoons, Oreo-eating, and dog-(mis)handling has drawn to a to a close... but now it's raining.

Rain. On my mini-vacation to the beach.

The beach. A magical, risky place where those who are pale-skinned, freckled, wide-hipped and sunburn-prone, such as myself, only spend one or two days every year.

Today was going to be my day.

I came prepared.

Board shorts. Tank tops. Sundress. Sunblock. A beach towel. Books. Magazines. A bathing suit, for Christ's sake.

And now this.

The plan has turned on me. Turned. In a big way.

We are T minus one hour away from our tour of the Cape Cod Potato Chip Factory.

I will revel in the golden chip's production, not the golden rays of sunshine; the cool metal of the factory lines, not the cool waves of ocean water.

Rainy family vacation.

Oh, joy of joys.