Pete and I, we’re not big vacation people. We love home and prefer to invest in something we can enjoy for a long time. But every so often we have the opportunity to vacation at a five star beach resort, with just about all expenses paid, and we take it. It’s my kind of vacation — luxury and pampering in a romantic setting, with nothing to do but loll around in sun and surf.
I was over my bikini angst from last year. With yet another year behind me, I felt even less “qualified,” but I cared less about it. In the minimalist spirit of Project 333, I took almost exactly the same outfits as last year. Amazingly, it didn’t bother me much, even though I knew we’d be seeing some of the same people. Or rather, they’d be seeing me. So what if they noticed that I wore the same clothes? As it turned out, I wore bathing suits most of the day, anyway.
Pete is a wild man. Definitely wilder on the jet ski than the motorcycle. He leans into tight figure eights and spirals, makes his own waves, and jumps them. I, well, I hang on for dear life and between breaths think how lucky I am to be married to a man who adds pizazz to my librarian life.
After a particularly exhilarating run, I yell over the roar of the engine, “I was just writing a post in my head!” Pete shoots me a strange look. “About how marriage is like jet skiing!” I add by way of explanation. Pete just shakes his head. He guns the engine and we take off again in a salty spray.
Ocean breeze, ocean view. Perfect place to curl up and write.
In my perfect world, meals would appear upon request — healthy, delicious, and served with fresh linens and silver. This is exactly why I love room service. In this case, I got to create Pete’s sandwich over the phone. My kind of cooking. I got an amazing Cobb spinach salad with Applewood smoked bacon, hold the blue cheese. Quiet, intimate, private — aaahh. Afterwards we ring, and they wheel it all away. A little slice of perfection.
We had a couple of dinners in romantic, picturesque settings, like this one on the beach.
Truckload of Towels … Literally.
Kind of crazy to end with this — a sad commentary on the cost of indulgence, but I just had to get this picture.