Mike and I are back from a much needed vacation, and although it went by far too quickly, I was amazed at how much fun we could squeeze into four little days. I’d say the absolute best part of the trip was seeing my in-laws. (No, I’m not joking.) We hung out at their place chatting, went out to eat, and even caught the final launching of the Space Shuttle Discovery right from their front lawn. Okay, we could only see its jet stream, but it was still very cool.
Mike’s dad has a knack for knowing the “in” places to go, so he steered us to a little place called The Old Key Lime House in Lantana Florida, just outside of Palm Beach, where they are rumored to have the best key lime pie in the state. Well, after a yummy lunch we ordered a slice of their famous pie with four forks……. BIG MISTAKE! After one bite I was hooked and ready to use my desert fork to stab any incoming hands. They should have named it key lime heroin pie because it was totally addictive!
That night we buzzed over to Bill and Charlie’s condo overlooking the ocean. They agreed to put us up for the weekend and even gave us their master suite. Their place was gorgeous, decorated in an Egyptian motif so luxurious that Cleopatra would have felt every bit of her queenliness living there. I could have done without the stuffed tarantula mounted on the bedroom hallway wall (just walking past it gave me the heebie jeebies) but I’d been meaning to work on my arachnophobia issues anyway.
The next day we swung by and kidnapped my recluse cousin, TJ, and then headed to the casino. We’re not big gamblers, unless you count using the rhythm method those ten years before my hysterectomy, but we had put aside a small budget just for gambling figuring we’d lose it all any way. Okay, I was hoping to hit the big one, but I wasn’t saying it out loud for fear of jinxing myself. In hindsight I can see that that theory doesn’t work. We gambled until Mike’s back started kinking, and cousin TJ’s gimpy hip gave out.
That evening we were invited to Italian night at Bill and Charlie’s condo. We were served a six course Italian dinner which consisted of pasta & sauce, stuffed pasta, spicy pasta, chicken with pasta, pasta balls and pasta salad. After the carb loading came the dancing part of the evening, and the music was …..Are you ready?........Italian! So, there was a lot of folk dancing going on with hand holding, skipping in circles, and at one point I was forced to crouch down Quasimodo style and dance under an archway of arms. While pushing through the fleshy tunnel, the old man behind me started scratching at the bare skin on my back just above the beltline of my jeans. My creep-o-meter registered at about 10.5.
Mike went home shortly thereafter, leaving me to fend for myself. I did enjoy a few dances with some of the feisty foreigners there. One gentleman was as round as he was high (about 5 ft nothing and didn’t speak a word of English) but he was light on his feet and had a gorgeous smile. Then Charlie and I showed off for a while on the dance floor doing a mix of dirty dancing and classic ballroom, complete with hot angry looks (tango style). I live for moments like that!
Saturday morning I woke up with “Bed Face.” That’s when the wrinkles in the bedding become embossed on your face. I looked like I had a terrible scar going down the entire right side of my cheek. It was ragged and red…..and looked a little like the bolt of lightning that runs across Harry Potter’s forehead. When I was young Bed Face would go away after about ten minutes, but the older I get the longer it takes to go away. Saturday’s Bed Face lasted 5 hours…ARG!! Luckily I didn’t have any public appearances planned and was able to practically ignore the whole ugly incident.
So Sunday we returned home and resumed dealing with all the big stuff that earns us the right to take our little vacations. In the morning we went to the beach, had lunch at our favorite restaurant, and then we visited some friends before coming back home to watch a movie. It’s not easy getting back into the daily grind of Florida living, but I suppose we can hack it until we shuffle off to Miami next weekend for a wedding.
Mike’s dad has a knack for knowing the “in” places to go, so he steered us to a little place called The Old Key Lime House in Lantana Florida, just outside of Palm Beach, where they are rumored to have the best key lime pie in the state. Well, after a yummy lunch we ordered a slice of their famous pie with four forks……. BIG MISTAKE! After one bite I was hooked and ready to use my desert fork to stab any incoming hands. They should have named it key lime heroin pie because it was totally addictive!
That night we buzzed over to Bill and Charlie’s condo overlooking the ocean. They agreed to put us up for the weekend and even gave us their master suite. Their place was gorgeous, decorated in an Egyptian motif so luxurious that Cleopatra would have felt every bit of her queenliness living there. I could have done without the stuffed tarantula mounted on the bedroom hallway wall (just walking past it gave me the heebie jeebies) but I’d been meaning to work on my arachnophobia issues anyway.
The next day we swung by and kidnapped my recluse cousin, TJ, and then headed to the casino. We’re not big gamblers, unless you count using the rhythm method those ten years before my hysterectomy, but we had put aside a small budget just for gambling figuring we’d lose it all any way. Okay, I was hoping to hit the big one, but I wasn’t saying it out loud for fear of jinxing myself. In hindsight I can see that that theory doesn’t work. We gambled until Mike’s back started kinking, and cousin TJ’s gimpy hip gave out.
That evening we were invited to Italian night at Bill and Charlie’s condo. We were served a six course Italian dinner which consisted of pasta & sauce, stuffed pasta, spicy pasta, chicken with pasta, pasta balls and pasta salad. After the carb loading came the dancing part of the evening, and the music was …..Are you ready?........Italian! So, there was a lot of folk dancing going on with hand holding, skipping in circles, and at one point I was forced to crouch down Quasimodo style and dance under an archway of arms. While pushing through the fleshy tunnel, the old man behind me started scratching at the bare skin on my back just above the beltline of my jeans. My creep-o-meter registered at about 10.5.
Mike went home shortly thereafter, leaving me to fend for myself. I did enjoy a few dances with some of the feisty foreigners there. One gentleman was as round as he was high (about 5 ft nothing and didn’t speak a word of English) but he was light on his feet and had a gorgeous smile. Then Charlie and I showed off for a while on the dance floor doing a mix of dirty dancing and classic ballroom, complete with hot angry looks (tango style). I live for moments like that!
Saturday morning I woke up with “Bed Face.” That’s when the wrinkles in the bedding become embossed on your face. I looked like I had a terrible scar going down the entire right side of my cheek. It was ragged and red…..and looked a little like the bolt of lightning that runs across Harry Potter’s forehead. When I was young Bed Face would go away after about ten minutes, but the older I get the longer it takes to go away. Saturday’s Bed Face lasted 5 hours…ARG!! Luckily I didn’t have any public appearances planned and was able to practically ignore the whole ugly incident.
So Sunday we returned home and resumed dealing with all the big stuff that earns us the right to take our little vacations. In the morning we went to the beach, had lunch at our favorite restaurant, and then we visited some friends before coming back home to watch a movie. It’s not easy getting back into the daily grind of Florida living, but I suppose we can hack it until we shuffle off to Miami next weekend for a wedding.
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