Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Fact: three "followers" abruptly stopped "following" after yesterday's vacation story. AND I DIDN'T EVEN START THE SLIDE SHOW YET, PEOPLE. I gotta warn you-I'm gonna be writing about my trip all week. I mean Chickens, one of the very best things about a vacation is even if you don't come home with a suntan, you can come home with Blog Material. (Or-if you are REALLY LUCKY you can come home with Blog Material AND a small child who has impetigo--but I'll save that story for later.)
Manhattan is a small island: it is only 22.96 square miles. (Think Gilligan's Island with some really tall buildings.) As small as it is, we can waltz about town For Years without bumping into old friends. Apparently, to run into into former acquaintances and fellow New Yawkers, it is best to leave the state and head towards a vacation destination.
We ran into someone from our past on our vacation.
Oh, but not just Anyone. Not an old dear friend or despised enemy. We bumped into...
A FITNESS MODEL.
A Fitness Model, newly remarried, on vacation with twins from her first marriage, who carried her swimsuit portfolio on her blackberry, which she showed to Sexyhusbandomine while making small talk in the bar as he was getting us an afternoon cocktail.
When you are trying to enjoy a week at an all-enclusive all you can eat/drink while your children are being watched by stangers--the last person you want to bump into is a person who makes their living showing off their six pack posing in sports bras and skimpy bike shorts. Suddenly, all the outfits you packed-none of which lacks for an X in the sizing, feel particularly frumpy and volumnous. Not to mention the swimsuit with a skirt--and that clever little swish of fabric at the waist that in the dressing room had you feeling positively svelte--which now makes you feel like you are dressed for professional squaredancing when standing beside her in her teeny tiny polka dotted bikini.
And no: I did not want to meet for yoga at 9 am or do water aerobics at 11. I did not want to eat melon for breakfast or learn from her how to make a sugar free margharita by squeezing lime juice into some tequila. I wanted to do what comes naturally to someone like me. And by "naturally' I mean I took tips on how to enjoy my vacation directly from NATURE:
What made matters worse is that ComplicatedBoy became BEST FRIENDS with Fitness Model Mom's son. So that in the Middle of the Cocktail Hour--say 1:20 in the afternoon-- CBoy would come running up to us in our lounge chairs and ask us to sign him out of camp because his friend's stepfather was going to take them to archery. Being rather perpetually drunk the entire week and therefore very vulnerable to CBoy's masterful manipulation techniques, we would give in to Cboy's whining, and sign him out of camp. Then Stepdad's tennis lesson would get changed, and before you knew it we were stuck not only watching Our Own Kid, but Someone Else's Kid too.
So next time YOU have to Come With, Interwebs! Someone has to babysit.
But you better bulk up beforehand. Because real women don't have to read their beach books with two hands. Just sayin.
Posted by Lorrie Veasey at 10:42 AM