Cancun 4/18/2015: Aging Hippies and Flip Flop straps

OK FB friends, make sure you save this entry for Mrs. Jim Amster II, you know, the one he'll marry four days after I get kicked to death by an ostrich or fall into a vat of hot gouda while touring a cheese factory, because there's no way I'll die from natural causes or anything even remotely related to lifestyle choices, right? Right? And remind her that he is indeed a good egg. Because he will let her sample every bit of that tiramisu on the table, as long as she does a vigorous thirty minute workout in the pool afterward. There are other things you'd have to alert my replacement to, but's that's for another day. Vacation Jim is SOOOoooo relaxed that you'd think those beach crawlers with 846 sombreros atop their heads and briefcases full of silver were selling him the finest Mexican weed that pesos can buy, but no no no no, he don't smoke it no more. My aging hippie better half, who sees others running for cover at the first droplet, just shrugs, buries his head under his Yankee's cap and says: "I'm not moving for a month." This relaxed Jim is so pleasant, yet I can't figure out why he has to trek to the nearest toilet when the Gulf of Mexico probably has more pee in it than actual fish. At least THIS week it does, and I'm not ashamed to put that out there for the universe to judge. I am totally defiling this place anyway, urinating in the ocean and instigating fights with rival gangs of iguanas over a piece of mango.I saw the exact same fight between two anorexic women in NYC last month, coincidentally. Am I going to regret trip journaling one day? Lose friends because of it? (Those two anorexics already unfriended me because I mentioned their fight over a piece of mango even 'though they're fictional) I mean, I KNOW y'all have better things to do than read these tomes but I'm thinking it's better than posting photographs from cameras I don't know how to use, which explains why my entire album from my 1973 trip to Canada is filled with nothing but pictures of my eyeball. See? When you take PHOTOS, you won't let your husband post any one them because your wind-blown hair makes you look like Alfalfa from "The Little Rascals." So then you just wind up with pics of thatched roofs that you could find on your own in any non-pornographic Internet site. I can't tell you how many FB friends post pics of flowing creeks or nameless mountains or strangers in front of museums. I'll just assume their wives were having bad hair days too. Oh, and this will have YOU, Andrea Miller Seitchik, doing cartwheels! I broke the strap on those $6.00 Walmart flip flops, you know, the ones that were part of my Cinderella story during our last Club Med trip. I didn't say I threw them out mind you, I just said a broken strap is like they're in critical condition. Unless you're me. Then you're delusional enough to think of them as an heirloom. Hope you like the color, Marissa Levson..They'll be yours one day!