Jennifer and I were in a joint construction yard and ship harbor, the combination of which resulted in an odor heavily spiced with diesel, brine, and the potent musk of middle-aged men carrying shovels and driving flatbeds and cranes. As we wandered, pinching our noses and trying our best to avoid anyone clad in hard hat or neon vest, we were reprimanded for climbing onto equipment (rather aggressively if you ask me) and ogled at by a couple of pot-bellied, lunching deck hands (gross). Who cares; we also found a lot of parked taxis and crawled on top of those without getting caught, made friends with a ferry owner and got taken on a breezy joyride around the little inlet, played with shovels, sat inside a bulldozer-but-not-actually-a-bulldozer contraption, and enjoyed some granola bars (Quaker Chewy) all while serving major face.
Considering the unplanned nature of the day, the after-school daycare snacks, the innocent way we turned this construction site into a playground, how Jen and I became friends within minutes, I legitimately feel like we achieved Backyardigan status. Call us the Shipyardigans?