Beyond the Sea
We’re going on a cruise!
(And no, I did not use that title because it’s the Carnival cruise theme song. I used that title because it’s the Finding Nemo song, which makes it much, much cooler.)
(Just like Breathe (2 am) is now officially the Grey’s Anatomy song, which means every time it comes on I start to cry because it was playing when Meredith was going to die in an explosion, having never known just how much Derek loves her, really loves her, and then the bomb squad man dies in her place and she feels so grateful for everything and….I need a tissue.)
(Strange how the cartoon fish movie is much deeper (see, Marlin has his spiritual crisis inside a whale - just like Job! And Dory can’t remember anything and even though that cripples her in some ways it teaches how the only place we can live fully is in the present!) but the doctor soap opera makes me cry just as much.)
(I wonder if my calling is to write a doctoral thesis on Finding Nemo? Because that would be awesome.)
Anyway, yes. We’re going on a cruise! To the Caribbean! To St. Thomas and a bunch of other places I can’t remember!
Matthew’s parents are taking us in July (see, I told you they love me!).
How awesome!
Actually, my initial reaction is twofold: Hooray! and Holy cow, I have to be in a swimsuit in public!
Not to sound like Cathy (shudder), but this is the only part that does not sound like fun. Because inherently, swimsuits are a lot of work. Even if you look like Heidi Klum (pre- or post-baby…), you still have to be somewhat tan so you don’t look ridiculous and have a pedicure and have smooth legs and sit properly so you don’t accidentally pull an insert-accidental-flashing-reference-here.
(By the way, I nearly pulled a Marylin Monroe this weekend. We were walking from the ballet on Sunday and I’m wearing this full circle skirt and I walk right over one of those sidewalk grate things - idiot! -, which sends a gust of air up my skirt. Thankfully, I have lighting-quick reflexes - at least, in these situations - and no one was around - or, at least in the same block. That knowledge is the only thing preventing me from wanting to die on the spot.)
(Cringe. Moving on.)
So yes, swimsuits are a lot of work. And that’s before you’re presented with a four-course meal every night, not to mention dessert. Which is why I’d rather wear a leotard any day. Yes, I think that is my plan - a leotard and tights on deck. With my hair in a bun.
Hey, it can’t be as embarrassing as having your skirt fly up in broad daylight.
Which did not happen, by the way.
Cringe. I’m packing pants.
