it is after all, Jamaica

Once again we are dragging our pale and freckly arses down to Jamaica. We usually don't do this trip twice in one winter, there's only so much rum the old boy's liver can metabolize but we will take that chance for it is after all, Jamaica.
They have given us a suite in the "preferred" section of the resort because we just keep showing up and spending money. Preferred rooms have private outdoor hot tubs nobody will use because it's so damn hot but there is a fridge stocked with Red Stripe beer and free banana chips left by the cleaning lady every morning.

We are surrounded by wealthy tourists with clipped European accents who keep running into me because as we all know they walk on the wrong side of the sidewalk, just like they drive, the buggers. I never liked rich people. They wear too much white and have this infuriating air of entitlement and they think life is a right not a privilege and I should slap their silly faces.

So now I am watching the buttocks of a chubby black woman gyrate and quiver above me on the pool's edge. I have never stared at a woman's ass this long and I am feeling uncomfortable and mesmerized at the same time. She is teaching us reggae and her butt cheeks seem to move independently of each other like two pigs wrestling inside a sack, orbs rotating in oppostie directions. How is that anatomically possible?



Seriously, this is her publicity photo.

All my bony little tush can do is a couple of pathetic thumps and now she's yelling at me, "Swirl your hips! Swirl your hips!" Oh for chrissake, leave me alone Madea, just how important is this in the universal scheme of things? I swear my pelvic floor has never moved this much since childbirth.



If I ever survive this aquatic hell I plan to spread the rumor that Caribbean queenie had some crucial bones removed from her lower back to facilitate this unique and scary dance she struts before us, how pathetic is that. This is not normal human movement she does, now where's my drink.