Thursday, March 26, 2015

i am not a vacation person

We are in Mexico. I spend my days reading, swimming, walking alone on the beach and trying to avoid eye contact with the other human beings milling about.  And for those of you who are familiar with resort life you know this is damn well impossible.

this is the guy

Why must the most obnoxious people always sit next to me? Is there a sign attached to my back that says, if you are a true pain in the ass please feel free to plunk yourself down. And tell your wife to keep inhaling those stinky European cigarettes that smell like burnt  chocolate. Oh, and thank you for smoking that huge honking cigar in the pool while I was swimming this morning.  I can only hope you bought it from one of those skanky beach vendors which means it probably contains traces of fertilizer or glue.

I am not a vacation person. Granted, it sounds good in theory but I come from a family where having a good time is prohibited. My father and his siblings were not allowed toys. They were put on this earth to work and be serious about it and everything else. German heritage you ask me? You had better be able to account for some level of productivity every waking hour of the day.

Currently, I am sitting in my room and my skin is reddened and bumpy due to an allergic reaction to my new sunscreen. People look at my spotty skin, shudder and turn the other way. This may just work out. I'm ready to go home. I can't log onto Netflix and worse, this place doesn't stock Coke products.

At the airport I buy duty free Estee Lauder cologne. The clerk looks closely at me and hands me a free sample of neck firming cream and some sparkly pink lipstick which I will pass onto my granddaughter. It's too princessy for an old broad and the cream? The wrinkly rivers etched into my neck are beyond repair. I may use it to caulk some nail holes in the bathroom.

At the airport I order shrimp and a margarita. I decide to visit a restroom while waiting and when I come back I see six laughing young Mexican waiters surrounding my table talking to the husband. Gawd, what has the attention-craving man gotten himself into?  I gingerly sit down amongst cheers and flashing white teeth and suddenly the boys all start singing, one kid shaking that margarita tumbler, shakee, shakee and swinging his butt way too close to my face. After about a minute of this nonsense I clap my hands twice loudly and point both fingers at my glass. The singing stops, the drink is poured and they all shuffle away looking somewhat mortified.

Oh c'mon, I just endured a week at an all inclusive, I'm allowed. 

1 comment:

Arizaphale said...

"I may use it to caulk some nail holes in the bathroom"