It started out quiet enough. A game of Mexican train with the rules an amalgamation of recollections from prior games, which changed with each round. One shared bottle of champagne, oh, and a little Baileys in our coffee with the banana cream pie. But then, Bob became DJ, using the latest hits on my Ipod to get the party moving and Peter opened the bar.
My husband is a dancing fool and one helluva bar man. We made it past sailor's midnight---no one left until after 2 am. And just like the last time Bob played DJ, we awoke with memories of having a good time, laryngitis, and large heads.
The Island Packet behind us definitely felt left out.