In my feverish attempts to have a new blog post up before I leave for Key West, I’ve enlisted in the help of my husband:
Pat: Er, um…hi Beckey’s blog.
Me: So honey pants, are you looking forward to some fantastic days in Florida? I’ve never been, so I’m picturing alligators, old ladies wearing neon visors and track suits that make a swishy sound, orange juice, and sticky palm trees, am I close?
Pat: No. Think Cubans (people & cigars), Mai Tais, and lots of sarongs.
Me: So what you’re saying is, I’m going to get so drunk off Mai Tais that I’ll end up with a Cuban boyfriend named Desi who wears a sarong, and acquire a cigar smoking habit? Jeepers, that sounds like fun times.
Pat: Perhaps you’re mixing up Samoans in sarongs with Cubans in sarongs. All of the Cubans in my imagination wear white 3-piece suits, excellent straw hats, a nice pair of Persols, and drive old Mercedez-Benzes. It sounds like a pretty nice life now that I think about it. Maybe I should consider a nationality-switch.
Me: Okay, you become Cuban, but without all the communist stuff, and I’ll be French without all the negelecting of the arm pit hairs, and we can jump in our space ship and eat cotton candy while singing David Bowe songs about love and labrinths.
Pat: This conversation is going exactly where I expected. I mean, honestly, who can think about Key West and NOT think about David Bowe and arm pit hairs? Seriously though Beck, you should probably put the cola down and go to bed. I think you’re delirious.
Me: nightty night internets. I love each and every one of yous. Mmm cola…