Last summer was the first time we were not at Wrightsville beach for Father’s Day since the kids were toddlers. It is the husband’s happy place, so we were super excited to get back there this summer. Since Appa is at doggie reform school, we decided to grab Bailey’s Emotional Support Animal (ESA) ID and Certification and bring her along. Saturday afternoon was great. Our place had a tunnel of trees you had to go through to get to the beach and the back yard was perfect for fetch, frisbee and paddle board games. On Sunday afternoon as the husband was on the phone with his dad wishing him a Happy Father’s Day, he heard someone in the carport yelling “no dogs allowed!” I grabbed the ID and Certification and explained that she was not a pet, but an ESA. He said the ID was fake and handed it back. Next he complained about the 10 flags that were on the perimeter of the yard. I explained that they were to show Bailey the parts of the yard where she was allowed. His response: we did not rent the yard and it was only to be used to get to and from the beach. So much for fetch, frisbee and paddleboard. Next on his list of complaints was “all the stuff we had in the carport.” We had 4 beach chairs, 2 boogie boards and a bag of charcoal. He went on to share that it was illegal to grill in the town of Wrightsville. What?!? We have been coming to this very beach since 2005, and we have always brought our tiny Weber grill in case the gas grill at the rental didn’t work. He screamed that he was calling the rental company first thing in the morning and stomped off. Well, I beat him to it. I called the weekend on call property manager who was shocked by the owner’s behavior and said he would get in touch with him and ask him to not lurk around the property during our stay. Before that conversation could even happen, the owner was back on the property Monday morning complaining that one of our cars was too close to his boat trailer and needed to be moved. I asked if he planned to come by and yell at us daily during our visit, because if that was the case we were getting a refund for our stay and heading home. His response: it was his property and he could come over as much as he wanted. Everyone trashes his 3.5 million dollar property, so he is compelled to check on the place while it is being rented. I got back on the phone with the property manager, who again was super apologetic and offered a refund for our trip. We stayed Monday night because the teen girl had friends coming over but headed home Tuesday morning.
What a nightmare, but kind of a blessing in disguise. Neither one of our teens really wanted to be at the beach for a week with their parents. We were trying to make it fun for them by letting them bring a friend but that turned into the teen girl inviting 4 friends. The teen boy’s pals already had plans for the week, so he brought all types of gaming devices to stay happy. So as we were packing up Monday night, I checked out Asheville rentals for the rest of the week. The first place I found was .1 miles from downtown Asheville. I immediately booked it for just me and the husband. We left the teenagers and puppy at home for 48 hours of fun in the mountains. And it was AMAZING. We ate, drank, shopped, and slept, and I realized that I still like the husband, even without the kiddos. The teen boy had a friend sleepover, and I am sure they stayed up all night gaming. The teen girl picked up an extra shift at one of her jobs and spoiled Bailey with lots of car rides and a bath. A win for everyone!
The week ended with me writing a wonderfully comprehensive review of beach property, and my friend Rob did a reverse look up on Google to help me learn that the owner of the beach property was a lawyer from up North who was appealing an administrative suspension from the State Bar. Helps explain his grumpy demeaner.
So there you have it folks. How we turned beach lemons into mountain lemonade!
