I'm right in the middle of hedonism. Gluttony. All-you-can-eat and drink. All-the-guacamole-and-chips-you-can-eat. The all-inclusive resort.

Apparently, this includes insults too.

I went to the spa, and the guy doing my facial explained to me how the facial I was signed up for was for much younger skin. Wouldn't I prefer this other facial that was more appropriate for mature skin? Skin over thirty?

Thanks. I guess he didn't want a tip. If I had wanted to make myself feel bad, I wouldn't have gone inside the spa. I would have stayed outside, with all the bikini bodies.

The good news? When I leave here, I may never want guacamole and tortilla chips again. I'm finally full.



baggage claim

I have traveled a lot with the Pastor. I have packed a lot of bags. I'm really, really good at it. Every time I pack, I think of an old "8 is Enough" episode where one of the girls is in a beauty pageant and her talent is packing a suitcase.

That could be my talent.

If anyone deserves a nice suitcase, it is me.

Most of the time, I use my backpack, which is a perfectly nice piece of luggage. There's just one flaw - you shove everything in and you can't see it. You want one thing, and you have to pull out everything.

So I mentioned to the Pastor it would be nice to have a suitcase. Then I could open it and see all my clothes and pull out the one thing I want!

Nowhere in this mentioning did I say anything about Goodwill.

Then I got a phone call:
Him: I got you a present.
Me, wise after five years: Do you really want to get my hopes up like that?

It's the thought that counts, right?

I pull into the driveway and there it is. At least it's red. I like red. N8 was with me. I said to N8 "do you think if I hit it with my car I can roll it down the driveway, or will it crumple under my car?"

It's the thought that counts, right?

It didn't do either. It kind of rolled off to the side. Lame.

Then we went into the house where the Pastor began to excitedly show me the special features of this $3 suitcase. To start with, "Where's the Lysol? I need to spray this down!"

This pully thing doesn't work, but it's a perfectly good suitcase!

This outside pocket zipper is broken, just don't put anything in this compartment, and it's a perfectly good suitcase!

Maybe to stuff a body in, I'm thinking.

Needless to say, the Pastor's sweet gesture just ticks me off in the days leading up to a trip when I'm packing and cleaning. Now I feel like I have to deal with taking a junky suitcase to a dumpster. (Body, optional. I can get kind of cranky when I'm showcasing my talent.) Also, it made me feel like, even though I have this perfectly good - although somewhat inconvenient - backpack that I needed to all of a sudden go suitcase shopping. I didn't buy anything though, I couldn't decide.

Note to Pastor: $3 junkaroo suitcases are perfectly fine. For you. They make wonderful presents. For you.

Off to pack some more. This time I'll be wearing my evening gown and practicing my arm gestures while I do it. I won't get the new suitcase, but maybe someday I'll get the crown.