Hey, we still need volunteers to hang out with us at Spelling Bee rehearsal tonight, Monday, and Tuesday! I hear tell that there will be free goodies provided to those who show up. And “goodies” may or my not be code for “exciting sexual favors.” YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO COME FIND OUT.
In a spectacular “EFF YOU!” to all heretofore-upheld traditions, my family has booked a Caribbean cruise for the week of Christmas, with stops at Grand Cayman, Isla Roatan, Belize, and Cozumel. Feliz Navidad, apparently. I’ve never been on a cruise, nor have I ever left the country, so this is all two great big scoops of adventure for me. It’s also cause for moderate concern, because I get sunburned if I look out the window on a cloudy day, and now I’m going to spend ten days a stone’s throw from the equator, where they keep all the sun. Like, I’m actually pretty sure that the sun has the stateroom right next to mine. I am going to have to be shipped home in an urn.
My mom sent me a link to Carnival’s cruise-planning site and told me to start picking shore excursions I’d like to try, so now I’m suddenly faced with having to choose between things like “cave tubing” and “shipwreck snorkeling” and “scuba excursion to stingray city,” all of which sound terrifying. I mean, have you seen Stingray City’s crime rate? The gang violence alone is enough to give one pause.
Anyway. About 98% of these excursions involve swimming, which is, y’know, expected, but more than a little detrimental to my goal of forever shielding humanity from the sight of me in a bathing suit. My apologies in advance, Central America; my thighs really aren’t the goodwill ambassadors they should be. (Man, I sure did intend to start losing weight in earnest back in, like, July. Whoops! At this point, I’m beyond thinspiration or Thintervention; I need a straight-up Thinquisition.)