|THIS IS ME ON PARADISE ISLAND, discovering what most men learn at age 18: That at 2 a.m. and with two gallons of rum in your system, just about anything looks 'doable.' |
"Miss, your flight is leaving now."
"But I'm not scheduled to..."
"Miss? Your flight. Is leaving. Now!"
Still, I jammed an awful lot of fun into those four days and I like to think I made something of an impression (several Bahamian women were pretty tickled about my nails, with one of them cooing, "Ooooh, your nails is lovely! Is that the style in America?" To which I replied, and I'm not kidding, "Well it will be once they see this picture of me") on the men, women, lobster fishermen, cabana boys, blackjack dealers and bartenders of the string of 700 islands that make up the beautiful Bahamas.
I would also like to reassure my boss, who is still recovering from the last vacation poleaxing (please see: Bermuda, motorized vehicles, Marie Sutherland, do not allow), that I came very, very close to respecting his request that I shun anything remotely resembling a moped. In deference to his sage advice, I rented a car instead and drove it around the entire island on the "wrong" side of the road because British heritage and only got into trouble once (on a roundabout, and nothing happened but a lot of honking so who cares?). The moped I rented the next day cost twice as much, but was way more fun. (Sorry, boss. I tried, but it turns out I'm not much good at abstaining. From anything.)
And may I just say in closing: All-you-can-drink cocktails from 10 a.m. till 1 a.m.? Whoever dreamt up THAT concept is a goddam genius. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and get my entire circulatory system cleansed before reporting for work tomorrow. (It was worth it.)