I’m going to have to start saying things like, avast matey or over the starboard bow me hearties, or ye be a saucy wench because I’m going to be on a cruise for the next few days. And when you’re on a boat you have to talk like a pirate right? Well maybe that’s not exactly how it works, but honestly I don’t know because I’ve never been on a big o’ boat before. I had drinks at the Queen Mary once, and I’ve seen the Titanic movie, and that’s about all the exposure I’ve had to ships.
I have all these ideas of what it’s going to be like, the romance of the sea, the crisp wind on my cheeks, and the new land to be explored. But I’m nervous too, for starters, I’m “motion sensitive.” I duck out of amusement park rides that go round and round, I get car sick if I’m shoved in the back seat, and the last time I was on a sail boat my face literally turned green. Plus, I’m fearful of the cabin situation. I’m imagining this cabin to be the size of my shoe closet. Am I going to have bruises all over my legs from navigating the tiny room? I bruise easily, ya know. I have this sneaking suspicion that my cabin will have a bathroom that looks just like the airplane lavatory complete with flickering florescent lights, wonky water pressure, and an odd-shaped toilet that produces green liquid when you flush. I already have a hard enough time doing my twosies on vakay, and I’m sure this trip will be no exception.
On our honeymoon Pat and I went to Paris where we spent 9 glorious days exploring the City of Lights and having room service cheese plates delivered to our hotel room at 3:30 in the morning. Maybe it was all that cheese or my refusal to adjust to French time, but whatever it was, I was massively constipated. Every morning I’d give my new husband a run down of my BM progress, or lack thereof. I figured he needs to know this information as soon as possible because he has just pledged to spend the next 75 years with me, and the veil has been removed. It’s imperative that he know that I talk about poop with as much flippancy as most would talk about the weather.
I spent the whole trip plugged up. Which I didn’t understand, because so much was going in my belly: steak frites, crêpes, beer, wine, second-hand smoke, pate, foie gras, escargot, canard, poisson, and enough chocolate and macrons to induce a diabetic coma. I needed the whole French cuisine experience, no stone unturned for me. But apparently my colon had other plans.
It wasn’t until I was home that I finally was able to relieve myself, a mere 10 days later.
I’m fearful that this cruise will create the same situation for my intestines. And apparently cruise food is massively abundant.
So for starters, I’m loading up on the bran muffins at the buffet breakfast each morning. I’m also bringing a list of topics to avoid when talking to my mom.
OH! I forgot to mention, I’m going with my mom, plus my brother, his girlfriend, a few cousins and an aunt and uncle. I am not going with my husband and kids. I’m leaving them at home, there’s really no need to introduce my children to the crazy that runs so ramped in my family during such a tender age.
As for my mother, I have decided that it’s best to only speak when spoken to and try to gingerly change the subject when any of these topics may come up: travel, fanny packs, stranger-danger, general health, cab rides, hair color, body mass index, whether or not I need to wear jacket, and food. I’ll stick with neutral topics like my kids, and how beautiful the sunset looks.
She’s already propelled herself into nervous frenzy when she thinks about me traveling by myself to get to the hotel the night before we leave on the cruise ship. I have to take a 5 hour plane flight, then a taxi in a very busy city to get to our room. I’ve heard the following statements from her regarding this:
Wear a fanny pack, it’s best to keep your valuables on you when you travel. And then pull your shirt over it. Nobody will pull up your shirt to get to your money. I promise. But if you carry it in a purse, you might as well be waiving a red flag that says, “I have stuff in here that I want you to steal!”
Don’t talk to strangers, even if they say they have a taxi cab and are willing to give you a ride. They are con-artists and they only ride they’ll give you is a DEATH RIDE!
And recently she’s enjoyed bringing up these topics:
Have you gotten that hernia looked at? If you don’t do it soon you’re going to need an intestinal transplant, and don’t come running to me, I’m not donating any of mine to you, I’ll just tell you I told you so!
You’re getting too skinny! What’s wrong with you, EAT something! Oh that’s right, I forgot, you don’t like the taste of food anymore. I’d be skinny too if the only thing I ate was bowls full of lettuce.
It’s 69 degrees outside and all you’re going to wear is jeans and a tee-shirt? You know you’re going to freeze! Don’t come running to me when you do, I’m not giving you my extra jacket!
So I think my trip will be great as long as I stick with bran muffins and sunset talk.