Bride of Vacation

  

​We were in Mexico for two weeks.

     My wife and I considered this vacation our official honeymoon since we never went on a proper one when we jumped the broom 25 years ago. 

​     The first week we spent at an exclusive resort in Cancun called Krystal. It was all-inclusive, meaning the food, the drinks, the female companionship was already paid for. I'm kidding about the female companionship part. At least if my wife is reading this.

​     As we entered the resort, the first person who came up to us was a guy selling timeshares. I tell my kids when someone you don’t know walks up to you with a smile on their face they want to sell you something, and this guy had a BIG smile on his face.

​     He was young, with movie-star good looks, so I took a picture of him schmoozing my wife and her cousinLaura and sent it to my youngest daughter via text.

​     “I’ve found a husband for you,” I wrote.

​     “Da-aaad!” she wrote back. 

​     I guess she wasn’t interested.

    After listening to his spiel, they politely told him no. He never gave my wife and her cousin the time of day after that.

     We stayed at the resort for seven days and the only thing we had to pay for was tips, which, to a frugal person such as myself, meant I didn’t have to pay for anything. 

     My wife’s cousin and her husband, however, kept insisting on going places that cost us money. Why eat at the resort for free when you can be charged tourist-prices at a restaurant you have to take a taxi to? I was happy drinking at the bar or at the pool, but they wanted to hit the bars because alcohol tastes better when you pay for it. There's something about listening to obnoxiously loud music while opening your wallet that magically improves the flavor, you see. 

     The husband, by the way, is the kind of guy who wakes up early to go for a run. I told my wife that’s his way of making sure the rest of the day can’t get any worse than it started. I could trust my wife not to repeat that because half the time she doesn’t listen to me and the other half she forgets what I say.

     Everybody who worked at the resort was young, most of them good-looking, so that nixed any chance of me working at the Krystal. Now that I’m retired I’m looking for something else to do. I’d qualify in the good looks department, but a good-looking 67-year-old man is still a 67-year-old man. 

     At a show we saw, which told the story of Mexico in song and dance, a group of old men performed La Baila De Los Viejos. The Dance of the Old Men. Maybe I could get a job there, but I’d have to learn to dance first. 

     The food? Man, what can I say about the food? It was excellent. I was tired of it in two days. There’s only so much excellent food you can eat.

     The resort was affiliated with a few nearby restaurants where we could also eat for free, but at the resort itself they had buffets. Usually, I like buffets. Buffets improve the odds there’ll be something my wife will like. When we're back home trying to decide where to go to eat, I usually find myself performing a culinary Abbott & Costello routine with her.

     “Where do you want to eat?” I’ll ask.

     “You choose,” she’ll tell me.

     “House of Pizza?” I’ll suggest.

     “No,” she’ll say.

     “Wild Bill’s Burgers?”

     “We have burgers all the time.”

      “Geppetto’s?”

     “I’m not in the mood for Italian.”

     “Monk Fish & More?”

     “The problem with fish is it tastes too fishy.”

     “BB’s Barbecue?”

     “Hmm… barbecue.”

     “So it's barbecue?”

     “No.”

     “Then I’m out of suggestions.”

     “Listen," she'll tell me, "if you don’t want to choose, just say so.”