MIMI’S CORNER: Our Larry Bird Vacation

We did not go on vacation with Larry Bird. We went to Larry Bird’s hometown of French Lick, Indiana. But at least I got your attention.

If you don’t know about it, the French Lick Springs Hotel was established in 1845 as an opportunity for folks to enjoy the “miraculous” curative powers of the sulfur springs in that area … at least those folks who could endure the sulfur smells. (You do get used to it.) This was to be the first vacation we’d taken in a few years, and we were ready to roll!

I am a list maker, and I had prepared lists of necessary tasks to check off before we left on our trip. Take dogs to the kennel? Check! Hold mail at the Post Office? Check! Set timers on lamps? Check! Carefully pack clothing? Check! Tennis gear? Check! Tires, oil, gasoline for car? Check!  I had to work the Saturday we were leaving, so I left the final car-packing lists with my husband—let’s call him “Patrick.” He would load the car, pick me up at work, and we would hit the road, Jack.

So far, so good. We were down 75, nearing Cincy, and “Patrick” says, “Oh, shoot” … or words to that effect. I said, “What?” He laughed and said, “I forgot to pack my swim trunks!”  I said, “No problemo! We’ll find a store along the way, run in, buy some trunks, and be on our way in no time! No biggie!”  Laugh, laugh. And so we did.

We were back on the road, heading west.  Another hour passed and suddenly “Patrick” says, “Oh, shoot!” Actually, I think he said, “Oh, fudge” … or words to that effect.  I was afraid to ask, so I just sat there, waiting. He finally said, “I forgot to pack the garment bag with your dresses and my suit.” 

At this point, his name changed from “Patrick” to “Mud!” My lists! My carefully planned lists!

Now, I’m sure you’ve been to someplace with a dress code, although they’re not as prevalent as they used to be. At that time, the French Lick Resort did have a dress code for the main dining room at night: dresses for the ladies and suit and tie (or sport coats) for the gentlemen. Without our garment bag containing these items, we wouldn’t be allowed to eat in the dining room, which was included in our trip package. Ruh-ro! Double ruh-ro! 

Now what? We were well past any malls and were getting close to our destination. “Don’t worry,” Mud said. “We’ll figure something out.”

Luckily for me, the resort had a ladies’ clothing shop, where I found a suitable dress that fit, although for a lot more money that I wanted to spend. To his credit (as if he had a choice!) Mud said, “Go for it!” So I did.

However, there was no men’s shop. I told the woman running the shop what had happened. She laughed and said that it happened all the time and that the maître d’ would be able to help.

And he did help. In his own way.

Our first night at the fancy resort, when we were ready for a lovely dinner, I, in my beautiful new dress, was escorted to dinner by a man wearing an ill-fitting burgundy waiter’s jacket and a cheesy-looking tie. The next night, it was a green jacket with an equally unappealing tie. He might as well have worn a blinking light saying, “Here’s the guy who forgot to look at his wife’s famous list!”