Minor Detail

When you fly by the seat of your pants, sometimes you have to be prepared for things to not work out so great. There have been many cases of this through my years of travels. During my trip to Ireland in 2016 with my mother and sister, we had a variety of mishaps and adventures that you can read all about in the daily blog about that trip. Here's a story that revolves around a minor detail.

In the car and chatting among ourselves, we realized that none of us had seen Ashford Castle. Not signs, not information, not even a whisper in the places that we had stopped suggested where it might be hiding. Within minutes of this conversation, we turned down a road in the general direction we were hoping to end up. This road, naturally, led us to a stop sign with only a left or right turn. Sitting here for a moment, we discussed whether to turn left or right. We weren’t listening to the GPS at this point, so we decided together that we would turn right, just because. About a half mile down the road was the entrance to Ashford Castle. We couldn’t believe it.

There are so many moments I could describe to you that feel like serendipity stepping in during a vacation to help me have the best time possible and this was certainly among them. We, of course, decided to go into the castle grounds and see what we could see. It was at the gate of the castle that we learned there was an entrance fee just to park there and walk around unless you had reservations to attend high tea or a hotel for the night. Having neither, we paid the gate fee and went in. Acres upon acres of beautifully cultivated gardens that must take hours every day to properly landscape were delightful to walk through. We felt underdressed just being here. Nestled in the back half of the property is the Ireland School of Falconry. After several hours of walking and probably hundreds of photos taken, we got back in the car. There were so many great shots that day. Photos I still use for various headshots and posts.

Tired, ready for a shower, and wearing thin from being in the car a good chunk of the day, it was time for a hotel room. Having convinced my family to wing it, like I do, we had no reservations for the night. So, we drove in the general direction we wanted to be and looked out the windows. Along a stretch of road, we saw a sign that described an Abbey that had been turned into a hotel. Too unique to pass up, we pulled in to check it out.

From the parking lot, we could tell we did not have the funds to make a reservation in this place, but being the brazen one, I was determined not to let the act of pulling into the parking lot go to waste. With tensions a little high in the car, I thought it would be comical to make my sister and mother laugh. I made a few jokes about having to act right to be accepted here. I got out of the car and checked myself in the reflective rear door glass where my sister was sitting. Over-gesturing to fix my red flannel shirt, fluffing my hair relentlessly, even going so far as removing my lip ring so as to seem at least a little more civilized. My sister was laughing at me in the back seat. My mother was amused. Confidently, I strode away to the front door of the abbey to check on a price for the night.

As soon as my Chuck Taylor’s hit the carpeted entrance of this beautiful hotel, I knew my credit score wasn’t high enough to be in here. Mustering as much I-deserve-to-be-here as I could, I walked up to the front desk and said with a steady voice, “Do you have any vacancies for tonight?” The lady behind the counter was kind and checked her system. “For how many?,” she asked. I told her three and she told me the price. It was out of our range, for sure, but I didn’t want to seem too cheap. I told her I would tell the ladies in the car and if we decided to stay, we would be back. I thanked her and feeling an inch tall, I walked out of the lobby.

Crossing the parking lot back to the car, my head was hung low and I felt a little embarrassed. I laughed it off and moved to adjust my cross body bag while I was walking. That’s when I saw it. My shirt tails didn’t match. I looked closer, still too far from the car to be seen by my family. My fears were realized. My shirt was buttoned wrong. Worse yet, it had been all day!

I walked back to the car in full stride now. Looked at my sister through her window and demanded of her, “why didn’t you tell me?!” She looked at me confused. I took a step back from the car and held out the mismatched edges of my flannel to her and said, “you could have at least told me!” She howled in the back seat. At this point, my mother jumped in as well, laughing ferociously.

Even with the windows rolled up, their roars could be heard from several feet away. I resumed my position in the driver's seat and agressively unbuttoned my flannel to rebutton it. With each button my fingers found another snarky complaint came from me and each was met with ever louder guffaws. Once situation was remedied, I begrudgingly started the car and we resumed our search for a hotel for the night. It was exactly the break in tensions we needed.

I hope you enjoyed this story. Minor details can have an impact sometimes.

Thanks, y’all!