When One Dream Dies, Another One is Born

Guys, I’ve found it. The place I’m going to retire. I need to do a little more convincing for Brent, but w/ average female life expectancies being longer than those of men, maybe I don’t? We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. The bridge into….Portsmouth, New Hampshire. The cutest, most adorable little port town. Cobblestone streets, brick buildings, and seriously good restaurants. Did I mention the bar scene? Because it’s major. And I expect when I’m 65 and retired, a good bar is going to be just as important, if not more so, than it is to me now.

The only snafu, as far as I’m concerned, is that someone stole my brilliant business idea and started up shop already. A bookstore/bar; combining the two things I love most in this world: reading and drinking. They also provide my third love: eating. After getting over my shock and sadness that someone stole my very original and very genius idea, my curiosity got the best of me and I just had to see how it operated in real life. For my own shop, I pictured cozy couches with people hunkered down with a good book and a good beer. This place had a different vision.

#rude

First of all, it was way too hip for me. I didn’t know any of the beers on tap, and the bottled selection was only marginally better. The bartender/guy who wandered in off the street b/c he knew nothing about beer couldn’t recommend anything for my preferences, and then poured Brent and I two beers neither one of us ordered. Whatever, people make mistakes, I’m over it; it was the vibe that really ruined it for me. Too many hipsters, not enough cachet to back it up. The real deal breaker was the fact that the bathroom was like a mile back from the rest of the shop, clearly some shared bathroom space w/ the entire rest of the building. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Luckily, we stopped there first and got it out of the way, so all the places we went after it were amazing in comparison. But they would have been amazing on their own b/c everything in that town is so stinkin cute. 



And that’s when I realized I only took like two pictures b/c I was too busy have the time of my life to be glued to my phone. No regrets here. Actually, I do regret not taking any food pictures. There is nothing “small town” about the food scene in Portsmouth. When we retire there, I’ll pick up a job at one of the restaurants or bakeries. Something part-time, obviously, just a few mornings a week. 

Hope your summer ended on as great a note. Fear not though, I think it’s supposed to be sweltering this week. Pumpkin spice everything may be just around the corner (if it’s not here already, I don’t drink Starbucks), but it’s not fall just yet. You can’t go apple picking in a sundress and flip flops, you just can’t.

Comments

Yeewuz said…
I need to do a little more convincing for Brent, but w/ average female life expectancies being longer than those of men, maybe I don’t?

RIP, me.
Unknown said…
I must say this post shocks me. All of the content makes sense with the exception of one: New Hampshire? I thought we agreed that was the worst of the New England states! (Sorry Brent...but I do believe in your longevity!)
Sarah said…
I hope Brent has a long happy life and you sell him on Portsmouth rather than venturing out as a widow.

When you start your book bar, I know a good bartender who would be nice and who would love being able to eat lobster straight out of the ocean 3 times a week.

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