Ah, Antigua. I miss you already. I admit that, at first, I was just after you for your looks. You can't blame me... Your intoxicating vistas. Your sensuous curves. Your bold colors. Your lush landscape. And, oh, god, to feel your heat! But the truth is, you are so much more that stunningly beautiful. You are friendly and welcoming and interesting and, oh my god, your luscious mangoes!!
Sigh... Yes, I am back. There were a few things of note on my journey:
- The woman in the row in front of me on the plane from Antigua had a regulation-sized can of Pringles and likewise a Hershey bar. She alternated a Pringle and a bite of chocolate, Pringle, chocolate. This I can accept but can someone explain to me why she washed it down with a Diet Coke?
- I made a startling discovery while I was away: you do not have to have Vietnamese jabbered all around you to have a successful manicure or pedicure. I know! I was shocked, too. Our room came with a sizable spa credit so I got a manicure and a pedicure and an even shorter and sassier haircut (this one people are actually complimenting me on!) and it was sooooo relaxing. Oh course, to maintain this do, I'll have to fly back to Antigua about once a month. Oh well. Price of beauty blah blah.
- Our departure from Miami back to DC was delayed an hour, so, instead of leaving at 10 PM we left at 11 PM. As they packed the plane with standbys, it was completely full. The stews were tired and nudging people to sit down so we could go already and possibly land in DC by 1 AM. The 30-something woman in the aisle seat across from me seemed to think she might die if she didn't get to sit next to the man she came on board with. She repeatedly harangued the stew about the possibility of changing seats. The flight was full. Why would anyone change seats? She wasn't a child, after all. For the love of god, we're talking about a two hour flight! Suck it up, Woman! Meanwhile, the man who was her entire world, took his seat in the back of the plane and promptly fell sleep.
- At the resort, there were plenty of young newlyweds. In fact the demographic broke pretty cleanly between just married 20-somethings and your 40-plusses. One recent bride sported a tramp stamp that read: DAD. That's right. A tramp stamp that read DAD. I've heard of being a Daddy's girl but... ew. I guess I would have understood it more if it had read "Daddy", as in "Who's your..." Anybody want to venture an explanation for this? I am at a loss.
At least Barbie got it right.