Ok so I went to Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida, and it was awesome. We woke up, ate breakfast, went to the beach, looked for shells and sharks’ teeth, played in the surf, ate lunch at the beach-front restaurant, looked for more shells, played in more surf, showered, ate dinner, slept, repeat.
To sum up: It was a wonderful trip, nigh upon perfect, and no one likes to hear about anyone’s perfect trip, so I’ll stop there.
I mean, it’d be different if I was telling you about the trip I took with my boyfriend to Mexico, on a student budget, and he assured me that Playa Del Carmen was the sleepiest little town that no one had ever heard of… and we arrived to find it had been heard of just fine by Everyone From Europe. I’d tell you more (like how we had to share the ONLY room in town with a hippie from Arizona who went out drinking with my bf and they came back and snored so loud it awoke all the roosters in the town and every time one of them went “gnnnnnkzacksnork!” the roosters would crow), but that story gets rated R, and some of my students might be reading this, so just ask me later.
Or if I was telling you about the American Express Valuepack Tour of Europe with my sister… that would a good story because she was 13 and I was 21 and honest to gosh what is up with Italian men trying to hit on 13 year old girls???!!! I think I put off parenthood a good ten years after experiencing that dose of responsibility. And then she dropped her purse in a Venetian canal and it stunk up everything the rest of the trip.
Or my college trip to the Soviet Union when my roommate and I hooked up with these young Soviet hotties who happened to be part of the deaf Russian black market… yeah, I said deaf. They could write perfect English. We let them stay in our hotel room and they sat up all night talking… with their hands! And no, they were perfect gentlemen. Until the next night. Nothing like being propositioned on a post-it note! Gigglesnort. Did I mention the Soviets didn’t wash their clothes very often or use deodorant? Good thing I was able to say Nyet in writing, sign language, and a well timed retreat to the bathroom.
Or the time I went to Hong Kong and a bone in my foot slipped and I had to limp, painfully and miserably, through some of the most beautiful temples and pagodas that were still then part of Britain, and no matter where we tried to eat, it always turned out to be a chain that my dad had eaten in somewhere in England, and I realized that there’s pretty much nothing more disgusting than every Chinese man in sight spitting on the ground. Or the floor. Or in the subway. Blech.
So, naturally, I won’t bore you with some tedious description of my perfect beach vacation, and how relaxing it was. I’ll try to think of something more interesting soon. Right now I’m still trying to get back into the groove of reality. I’m going to Boston in a few weeks for a wedding. Maybe something hilarious will happen for y’all’s amusement. I’ll let you know!
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