Hello, boys
I write you this evening from the deck of my stateroom on the Carnival Pride.
Some time last year, I took my first trip to Catalina Island. It’s twenty-six miles across the sea (ocean, actually, but that doesn’t work as well in the song). I spent the sunny, breezy day shopping, and dining pier side with my Mom, my Grandma, Aunt Genevieve, and my Aunt Teak (that’s not my joke, but I like it!). On the boat ride home, someone suggested how much fun it would be to do this again, but on a bigger boat, like say a cruise ship. Oh, yes, that would be great, so much fun. Uh, okay, I thought, before forgetting all about it.
Several months later, my Mom phoned to say she and the other Catalina Ladies (my term) decided to book a seven day cruise down to Mexico and I was invitied. She knew money was a little tight for me (ever since leaving my soon to be ex-husband, Endicott, then being ripped off for thousands of dollars in freelance work from weasely “employers”), so she offered to pay for my entire trip. If it made me feel better, she suggested, I could always return the favor by sending her someplace nice when I’m back on my feet.
So here I am on my balcony, typing away on my laptop, occassionally looking into the inky, starless sky, on a warm humid night.
It was just like this last night, too. As dozens of people, most decked out in their formal wear — Formal Night was the dinner theme; imagine young and old alike attending prom — spilled out onto the deck, many exclaimed, “Whoa!” or “My God, look at how dark that is!” One respectable teenage boy, he of short spikey hair and a nice black suit, tried to make small talk with the completely unpredictable, “Look at that sky!” I turned to the sweet sixteen — heck seventeen max — year old with the same smile and enthusiasm I wore all evening, “Yes, can you believe it? The stars are barely out!” As I checked for stars, I’m certain he checked out my ass.
Before I go on, I have to tell you that last night, I looked good. If you ask around, you’ll find that that is not the norm. While I’m not ugly, I don’t work very hard at being cute. My daily routine rejects convention grooming wisedom as I only cover the basics: foundation, lip gloss and (mostly) clean clothes.* I should probably mention that does not include the daily brushing of my hair. No, I’m not kidding. When I do brush my hair, apply make-up, throw on a cute black dress and high heel shoes that bring me to a whopping 6′ 1″ height, I look okay. Or as every person I’ve ever known as said at least once, “You clean up good!”
Yes, I do.
Teenage boys, old men, married men, and one tall, hunky, fair haired/skinned Scandanavian crew member all looked, smirked, then tried to chat me up. I usually get a big kick out of that stuff because I know they’d never recognize me without the heels, and make-up. Somehow the “outfit” makes me girly, approachable and, last night anyway, a head turner…Hey, I don’t get it either, but that’s what happened.
Standing at the railing later that evening, I thought about my first cruise, almost three years ago with my soon to be ex-husband, Endicott. This is the part of my blog where I become nostalgic for the good times we spent together but resigned to this fate as a separated woman, soon to be divorced. That’s not going to happen today. Last night, I found I could remember our fun trip without attaching much sentiment to it. It happened, it’s over, and now I’ll move onto another adventure, possibly with someone else. I’m hopeful. And more than overdue.
We dock in Puerto Vallarta tomorrow. I have a dolphin (swim) and a frog (Senor Frog) in my immediate future. We’ll see if they direct me to a real live boy!
Hasta luego!
Flo
*And that last one is only half the time. I can’t eat indoors at Fatburger anymore after that time I went in there completely unwashed after an hour long workout, followed by a brisk half-mile walk in the scorching sun. People seemed to think I was a homeless person because I smelled like one.
Add comment October 18th, 2006