I am back from my super fantastic vacation. I experienced a few tsks and raised eyebrows when I declared that The Sweetie and I were going on a two week beach vacation. I also heard some thinly veiled catty remarks of how boring it would be to be stuck on a beach for two weeks. Pah. The naysayers can bite my guacamole filled ass. It was pure sunny glorious bliss.

It was dreamy and delightful and completely turned off and tuned out. Endless sunny days filled with rickety buses to dusty towns and cheap beer, buffet madness with grilled fish caught by the local fishermen, sipping drinks from coconuts, and squishing my toes in the sand. I loved having beach walks and feeling the surf pulling at my ankles, my belly distended from shrimp burritos and nachos, my 10 am margarita buzz leaving me gleefully loopy.

I felt utterly at peace and neuroses-free, grinning maniacally to myself in full sun-kissed glory.

Soon I will be off on a beach vacation. Go on, you can hate me. I know I’d hate me. I understand.

The Sweetie and I found a super duper crazy deal to Mexico at an all-inclusive resort for two weeks and being someone who suffers from SAD, and this being an extra long and brutal winter I am flitting off guilt free and in denial about my maxed out credit card. I’ll be blissfully happy as I eat mangoes and play our favourite game of guessing which tourist will be eaten by a shark. I am always amazed by people who swim out beyond jumping distance of the shore, at sunset, wearing metallic bathing suits and near diving birds. Obviously they haven’t studied the shark attack website, otherwise they’d know that these are all no-no’s. I love being in the ocean but I am very conscious of the fact that it is not my natural environment and is teeming with creatures waiting to eat me. I make sure there is a protective phalanx of other swimmers further out than I am, and I’m always prepared to leap onto the sand at the first sign of an underwater struggle.

My poor Sweetie used to play in the ocean unencumbered by neurotic fears of imminent shark attacks. He fearlessly snorkeled in the Great Barrier Reef, which is nothing but a hotbed of ravenous great white sharks, and just felt awe. He also used to enjoy camping. This was before we went camping together and I was obsessed with being eaten by a bear. I  have managed to systematically ruin activities that he used to enjoy, replacing them with hopefully equally entertaining games of  “guess the shark victim”, “who can eat the most at the buffet” contests, and intense poker matches.