We go on our real honeymoon in 22 days, but who’s counting? I made the HUGE mistake of looking at pictures and reviews this past weekend. I am now a worthless blob, counting the days until I get to go to the freaking awesome place.
They have hammocks just outside the poolside bar.
They have floating beds under grape vine archways.
They have crappy showers.
I am already half packed. I have all my sarongs and tank tops and recently purchased bathing suit cover-ups neatly tucked away into my suitcase. I have plans to go out this week and buy myself a new bathing suit, something I haven’t done in almost 10 years. All I need are some toiletries and a good amount of new flip flops and I should be set!
And then we will be in paradise (this place was consistently referred to as paradise and heaven on earth) for a week. Sadly, just a week. But paradise is expensive y’all.
And then we celebrate my big birthday! We’re celebrating early by adding on to our big trip and heading to New Orleans for a few days. Gator tours, fancy hotel in the French Quarter…Nola, the land of contradictions.
I’ll be 30 this year. Three zero. The only reason I am ok with this are these two big trips I have planned just before, and the fact that I squeezed this marriage in just under the wire. I plan to make the last few days of my 20s the best possible days ever. I will try not to think about the girl I just hired born in 1982 with a PhD. Nor will I think about the 32 year old we just brought on board with wife and 2 kids, making 6 digits. I have 2 years, I can totally get there by then. (Moneywise I mean, twins are cute, but no thank you.) I will not think about work at all. I will sip fruity drinks with pineapples and toothpick umbrellas while lazing in the bar side hammock if my husband can manage to drag me away from the back garden with private pool. I might wake up at 9am, or I might wake up at noon. I will get a massage, sit in a Jacuzzi, buy worthless trinkets that I’ll hold onto forever, and maybe get some goodies for some family members with upcoming birthdays. And then I will beg the resort to hire me as a painter or groundskeeper (two of the job openings they currently have) and live in paradise forever. Or at least until the first hurricane. And then I will come running home.