You know what I like about vacation? The jittery feeling I get when I feel like I should be doing something, but when I look around I realize that all I really need to do is sit my rear end in that deck chair and read. It’s that brief moment of stumped awkwardness before I start to relax, and, like that moment a roller coaster car pauses at the crest of the hill before starting its exhilarating free-for-all descent, it is awesome.
I was sitting on the deck of our rented condo one afternoon, drinking a Corona (a beer I think I have only accepted happily on three occasions: a) on vacation, any vacation, any summer, b) while camping in Key West during my spring break senior year, where I was dirt poor and Corona meant living large, and c) any Jimmy Buffett show I’ve attended at any point in my 20s–I’d like to admit here that I was dragged, kicking and screaming, to these shows, but alas, I went by choice and tailgated with the best of them. Shhh. Don’t tell anybody). As I drank this beer, reclining in my (well, for the week, anyway) Adirondack rocker, I could smell the wonderful saltiness of an ocean breeze blowing through my wildly not-sexy beachy hair (why do all the magazines think salt-soaked hair is soooo gorgeous?! Have they seen my mop?), and I was very aware: my kids were sleeping inside, the sun was shining, I was outside, and I had nothing to do.
I got to sit out on a deck and listen to the seagulls and not worry about laundry and dishes and scrubbing the toilet.
I got to wear my swimsuit, around, all day long. Take that, proper etiquette!