Cruisin and boozin
The good life. White sand under toes, thatched roof overhead, turquoise waters spread before me, fish tacos swimmin’ in me belly, Dos Equis in hand. The beach off Palancar Reef in Cozumel: a moment of easy living to remember when life is less palatable.
Cruise was good. Stepbrother got married and I started boozin’. We started boozin’. Whole damn ship started boozin’. I found a new drink (vodka tonic) and a new companion (Lynette). Too much food, but isn’t that part of a cruise? The souffle was memorable, as was the scampi. Every black man on the ship had a Jamaican accent. Hmm.
Casiiiiiiiiiino. I don’t gamble, but those other guys do. Did. While they could, or could stand to. I don’t know that I’ll ever quite grasp the appeal of eventually losing your money, but hey man: whatever floats your boat.
And a newfound respect for Brad. Maybe I misjudged the man. Seems to have a good head on his shoulders. Maybe a good punch in the mouth from life was good for him, but honestly—and I mean this sans sarcasm—I’m not qualified to make that call.
Well, good times, good times. It was all for a wedding, and I met the bride an hour before I got on the ship. Nice girl, though. Good match for Tim, methinks. Cruises are excellent. Hoping to do one again soon.