Going down (to a submarine museum)

It was the best thing that the Naval Seaman could have said to me. Yes, I did giggle immaturely as I typed that sentence. After my harrowing drive to Connecticut, Savannah decided to drag me to the submarine museum. I thought I'd managed to dodge that snooze-fest as she'd taken her father there last time. Who would want to go twice? But apparently Brad had had such a fantastic time, Savannah figured she had a sure-fire winner. So while I was tiredly trying to differentiate the difference between a nuclear-powered sub and a sub carrying nuclear power, Savannah was slowly leading me toward the USS Nautilus. While I appreciated the literary reference to the sci-fi classic 20,000 Leagues under the Sea (a copy is actually displayed on board), I wasn't thrilled with the prospect of touring the vessel. And that's when I heard those titillating, sea-farin' words, "You only have five minutes before we close." YES! Like dog years, time is an imprecise measurement for a claustrophobic. Five minutes is actually closer to fifteen but, still...manageable. I took a deep breath and hurled myself down the narrow stairwell, dove through fifty hatchways, careened around corners, paused to be totally creeped out by the dummies posing as seamen (giggle, giggle), saw the book, saw the baseball commemorating a game between the crews of the Nautilus and the USS Constitution (11/7) and stumbled, gasping for breath, back up the stairs. I did it.

Turns out I enjoyed the museum but for different reasons than Brad and Savannah. While they marveled at the complexities of submerged vehicular operations, I wondered why no one wore shirts on a submarine as I observed all the little naked figures posed on the 3-D models. I admired Jackie-O's outfit while she was christening a ship. After I shared my vast submarine knowledge with a group of tourists, "This is a replica of the Turtle," I said, "as used during the Civil War," Savannah gently guided me toward the exit after mouthing the words "Revolutionary War" to our new friends. "What's in that room," I asked as we prepared to leave. "Just a room full of buttons, switches, and levers," she said, "and a bunch of periscopes. But you can only use them to see your car." I stopped and stared at her. Was she for real? Why...this sounded like the most wonderful thing in the whole world! I raced inside and wrestled a five year old away from a periscope. Why, yes...I could see my car!

We made the obligatory stop at the gift shop. Never in a million years would I have seen myself buying something from a submarine gift shop that wasn't layered between two slices of Italian herb and cheese flatbread. I bought the cutest little submarine paper punch-out that you've ever seen! (Although I am going to guess that you've never seen a submarine paper punch-out before so your basis for comparison is probably very small but trust me...adorable!). Apparently it was "all ashore who are going ashore" time because our friendly Naval Seaman began to herd us toward our car. I told him that I knew where it was because I'd spotted it through the periscope. Did you notice that I didn't giggle at all this time when I typed "Naval Seaman?"