My sweet mama and I went to Clearwater Beach. To get there from the airport, we booked a shuttle … a shuttle that ended up being a Cadillac. A shuttle that ended up being driven by a very nice man who held up a sign with our name.
We about wet our pants. He let us take his picture.
And then we got to our fancypants hotel, where we were ushered to the VIP check-in lobby. They served us champagne. We tried to act cool, like we are VIP check-in sort of people. I don’t think we were successful.
Perhaps the fact that we took pictures of each other posing with our champagne around the room is an indicator: we are not cool.
However, we’re a hellova lot of fun.
So, basically, we had a really intense routine for a week. We’d sleep in. Then, we’d eat breakfast in our room. Then, we’d take 20 minutes to slather sunscreen all over ourselves, like warpaint, in preparation for the intense activities of the day.
Then, we’d go down to the pool. And sit on lounges. And read. And when we got hungry or thirsty, we’d lift the little flag that was attached to each lounge shade, and a waiter would come over and attend to our every VIP need.
Sometimes, we’d mix it up and walk on the beach.
Obviously, it was a really intense week.
Sitting around a pool proved to be an excellent stress reliever. I highly recommend it. It also proved to be an excellent opportunity for eavesdropping.
We heard a group of men energetically espousing the merits of the FryDaddy. “Y’all, you can just throw any ol’ thing in there an’ it fries right up!”
And then there were The Germans, middle-aged men who sat around in their Speedos and spoke boisterously in their native tongue, which – let’s be honest – is not one of the more beautiful languages. I’m not sure if they were talking about the FryDaddy or not.
Then, there were two women with thick southern accents who were explaining to their husbands why men prefer southern women over their northern counterparts.
“Y’all, southern girls just take better care of themselves. When I was growing up, I had a horse and was always ridin’. Southern girls are in better shape, and we care how we look. Men like that.”
The other woman agreed. “Yeah. And southern girls are good girls – they’re religious. Northern girls aren’t church girls – they’re liberal.”
Now, I know that the Midwest is probably not the same as what these airheads were considering “The North,” so maybe I shouldn’t have been so personally offended. But the idea that you aren’t nice and aren’t a churchgoer if you’re liberal? And if you live above the Mason-Dixon line, you’re fat?
Well, bless your heart.
So, then my mom and I went around calling each other “dirty northern girl” and “skanky yankee.” That was fun. And I didn’t have to break a nail beating up those women – always a plus.
We did get a little slap-happy … like the fun we had with a lovely bit of wall art.
And yes, I did just post a photo of myself in a bikini.
Because I am sick in the head. Also, I’m trying to live up to a lovely award Coco over at Screaming for Chocolate gave me … for honesty in blogging. But more on that later.