Big Dave comes rushing up to my beach chair and yells, "you're missing all the excitement!" That translates as drunken middle-aged men hoisting their wives into the air at the pool bar and pouring booze down the fronts of their swim suits. In one case, the woman weighed well over 200 pounds and I can only explain the husband's accomplishment as an adrenaline rush paired with way too much Appleton rum. "Not my kind of party," I mutter into my book. I abscond all organized pool activities but I do want to show for the aerobics class later that afternoon. So at 4:30 I tiptoe across the bodies of passed-out sunburned red raw bodies only to find the exercise program consists of two hefty matrons with belly-dancing baubles jingling around their ample waistlines dancing to some raunchy Mediterranean beat.
There are many positive things about a Jamaican resort. It is a place where grown men can wear obscenely loud purple orchid-patterned bermudas and get away with it. And I can indulge in two of my favorite activities: observing the eating habits of North American tourists and walking down a public street with an alcoholic beverage. Referring to the former, you ain't lived until you've seen Minnesota citizens attack a buffet of deep fried vegetable fritters, meat pies and rum punch.
I meander over to the bar and order a Jack and diet and there are three bartenders pointing my way and demonstrating way too much interest in me. I keep hearing "John Deere, John Deere" and that's the t-shirt Big Dave has been wearing all week and then young Charlene says, "you're Dawn, aren't you?" Once again, my husband has passed this way and robbed me of precious anonymity. An extrovert spouse was not in my life plan but that's how the cards were dealt. Worse things could have happened.
And now my husband is talking to a North Dakota green farmer who is saying, "soy beans don't like competition" and "all I got is John Deere equipment" and you never really leave home, you know, at least not any more. Americans are everywhere, placing our stamp of macho cowboy bully rude boy on everything and soon the world will be one long strip mall with a McDonald's on one end and a J.C. Penney's at the other.
The only real problem with the tropics is you can't keep a drink cold very long.
I meander over to the bar and order a Jack and diet and there are three bartenders pointing my way and demonstrating way too much interest in me. I keep hearing "John Deere, John Deere" and that's the t-shirt Big Dave has been wearing all week and then young Charlene says, "you're Dawn, aren't you?" Once again, my husband has passed this way and robbed me of precious anonymity. An extrovert spouse was not in my life plan but that's how the cards were dealt. Worse things could have happened.
And now my husband is talking to a North Dakota green farmer who is saying, "soy beans don't like competition" and "all I got is John Deere equipment" and you never really leave home, you know, at least not any more. Americans are everywhere, placing our stamp of macho cowboy bully rude boy on everything and soon the world will be one long strip mall with a McDonald's on one end and a J.C. Penney's at the other.
The only real problem with the tropics is you can't keep a drink cold very long.
1 comment:
So worth it just to see that 200 pound woman catapulted into the pool; some sights ya just don't want to miss out on.
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