Goodbye Jamaica: 10/30/2015

As our Jamaican getaway comes to an end today, I realize two things: 1) My marriage may be dysfunctional(because it's a marriage) and wacky as Jamaican toback-y, but we bring out the best in each other when the Caribbean sun smiles upon us and makes the water Windex Blue. 2) My regular blog, kayfivenj.blogspot.com is like Zeppo Marx.  It is fun to write, and actually could be funnier than its sibling, but it won't get the response that this more popular vacation journal does, and I suppose that is indeed the "most ridiculous thing you ever heard" because I'm comparing a diary to Groucho, and I'm sure I'm not the first to do so. We're heading back to a house with no butler, unless you count Jim, and bathrooms with solid doors, but I wanted to tell you about our last night on vacation. We dined in the gourmet french restaurant on things I can't pronounce because nothing on the menu said "meringue" or "mon chien et Luke." I COULD pronounce Crepe Suzette and fried brie, which were both excellent. We then went to the Pirate Show, right on the beach in front of our room "6016!" (If I include the exclamation point, I am Jean Valjean, singing his prison number, which I wish I had thought of earlier)There was a dazzling display of fire eating and walking barefoot on a bed of nails; of contortionists easing their bodies through hollowed out tennis rackets: of a skilled acrobat who hoisted his partner by the ear lobes and put him on top of his head without breaking a sweat. I told Jim if Reefer Man had shown up earlier in the evening, I could have attempted all of the above, and he told me that would never happen, that I'd just get the munchies and be asleep by 8:00.  And if anyone's an expert on the munchies and being asleep by 8:00 PM, it's him.  After the show, we took a stroll in the moonlit surf when I accidentally found myself making eye contact with the Reefer Man on the rocks, and I turned around and walked the other way, only to make eye contact with struggling artists peddling paintings of men selling reefer from their kayaks, but Jim took my arm and led me to safety. I'm going to miss Jamaica and its cast of eccentric characters, with Jim in the lead role.  Or me.  Perhaps I'm the Queen of Quirk. (I was compelled to write a sentence with two "Qs) When we first arrived here in room 6-0-1-6-exclamation point, I was excited to discover the room had his and her closets, his and her sinks, and his and her full length mirrors on either side of the bathroom because we're preeners if we're anything.  And you know what I discover today, as we're about to leave?  I discover that those mirror are mounted on separate wooden doors, that could have been pushed together giving the bathroom occupant complete privacy, which meant there was no toilet that looked like a fishbowl, which meant I would have had nothing to write about.  For some of you, that might have been a good thing.  For others, well, thanks for the feedback as my battery is now at  fifteen percent, which means I don't have to kill Jim for neglecting to bring the charger. See ya'!