Summer Vacation?

Posted on May 6, 2010


We were invited by some of Daniel’s life-long friends to visit Puerto Rico with them this Summer.  I hesitated, for lots of reasons:

We have children. And dogs. And jobs. And a lawn to mow. And mail to get. And children. And dogs. And jobs.

One of us has a job that provides a paycheck, lots of time off, and that he doesn’t care a bit about.

One of us is just almost to the point where she feels like the past few years of ass-busting might just pay off.  One of us is scared to leave work for a week for fear of it not being there when she returns.  One of us has a job where someone can screw things up even if she doesn’t turn her back for a second.

One of us also hasn’t taken a vacation since 2006, and even that one was cut short because her mother ended up in the hospital with pneumonia so she came home from Canada after 3 days instead of 10.

All of those things can be worked around.  My friend, coworker, and brother-in-law offered to take up slack if we go.  Oh that’s not three people, that’s one person.  He’s a great multitasker.  I secretly think he just wants to get to hang out with Max and Millie.

Here’s what can’t be worked around as easily: Daniel’s friend is a personal trainer, and his wife is a professional dancer (A dancer dancer, like with a dance company that travels all over the world.  Not a clothes-removing dancer).  D casually mentioned that his friends had also invited another couple, who they know through the wife’s work. As in, another dancer.  Immediate anxiety attack. I don’t like staying with people I hardly know. I was willing to consider the trip based on the fact that these people love Daniel and he loves them, so they can’t be stuffy.  I’ve met both of them, and they both seem pretty rad. This other couple, however? eeep. D convinced me that his friends hate most people as much as we do, so if they like this other couple enough to invite them, then Other Couple must be as cool as Friend Couple.

I became okay with the idea again.

I spend a lot of time alone in my car.  This gives me a lot of time to do a lot of things, like listen to Cinderella’s “Night Songs” album without fear of judgement, and switch it up with Merle Haggard’s 20 greatest hits and not feel like a schitzo. It also gives me time to think about things, and to talk to myself.  I was driving along the other day, thinking about Puerto Rico and all of the logistics involved, when it hit me:

I can’t go.  I can’t.  There’s no way.  I won’t even put on a bathing suit because my body is so damaged, how am I supposed to go to a beach place with two perfect looking women and their super fit husbands?

Which led to:

I can’t go. I can’t. I won’t even put on a bathing suit because my body is so damaged, how am I supposed to go to a place that’s TEEMING with perfect looking women, with MY super fit guy?

Which led to:

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, I’m not going to Puerto Rico.”

“You need a vacation”

“I know, I’ll take the time off and stay here, you can go with your friends”

“No, you need to LEAVE on a vacation.  You can’t stay here.”

“I can’t go either.”

“Why Not?”

“[see above]”

“You’re crazy.”

That’s all.  Crazy or not, I don’t see how I can possibly go on this vacation. Because. You know. Kids. And dogs. And work. And work. And dogs. And kids.

And who would get the mail? And cut the grass?

Posted in: Bodies