The blue wave

Day One first  impression:  A mixed bag, starting with the notion that I should have never left the bed I couldn't get out of anyway, and ending on a pleasant note.

The staff here is friendly, but not as friendly as they SHOULD be.

The beautiful tanned people are very attentive when they've got cameras, otherwise, you're kind of on your own when it comes to sinking or swimming.

We had to call twice for a plumber, and twice to get the breakfast tray cleared away. You call the concierge, they tell you to call Room Service.  You call Room Service, they tell you the mailbox is full and cannot accept any new messages.

I wanted to ask for more towels, and an unclogged toilet, and another iced coffee.

(And by then I was resigned to the idea that asking for a portable bidet was off the table)

Jim has little patience for this nonsense, so he sets the tray outside himself, and the room service folks don't come, but Corona DOES, where he figures out how to knock over the creamer, which was way too full in the first place.

The room service guy appears a few seconds later, mad as a wet hen, but you can't cry over spilled cream!  Hey..WE didn't jam up the room service message box, and neither did Corona!

We proceed to the beach and plop ourselves into two suspiciously convenient lounge chairs.  Within minutes, we are swamped with peddlers of cheap jewelry and straw hats for toddlers, and I treated them with just a tad more civility than I treat the telemarketers that bother me daily.

I was finally at the beach, getting that Blue Wave fix like I was an informed voter in November, when a guy comes over and asks us what ship we were on.  I was about to attack him when a Sandals staffer told us that we were indeed pirating chairs that didn't belong to us.

We leave and I go to the pool where I meet Mary from DC.  We're talking for less than a minute when Jim walks by with his snorkeling gear and she tells him her name and home town and adds:  "Don't hold that against me"

How the hell did she read his political posts on Facebook BEFORE meeting him?  Or me?

A well tanned photographer approaches Mary and I, needing our NAMES and ROOM NUMBERS for the water aerobics class. 

I never had to this that at any other resort! What's next..my password or PIN number?

First of all, I NEVER remember my room number, and secondly, I ALWAYS cheat in this class, pretending I'm doing those weird twisty water things when I'm basically just trying to keep the sun out of my eyes.

So being the cheater I am, I sign my name as Felicity Huffman.

Yet another gorgeous man with a camera tried to snap close ups..of me in a dumb hat and a bathing suit..but he didn't get very far.

The instructor then ordered us to sit on the steps in the shallow end, shoulder to shoulder, waving like he's Bert Parks and we're posing for  some misogynistic photo op that should have died in 1966.

You can probably find this photo on Instagram if that's your thing.

Jim returns from snorkeling, eager for such at a place called Barefoot by the Sea, which is as nice as it sounds. 

We walk by a bunch of drunks playing corn hole, the dirtiest sounded g-rated game on the planet.

Jim doesn't drink as much as these fools, but he DID just ring the bell, claiming his key didn't work.  I didn't answer because he rang the bell of our neighbor, who answered dressed in only a towel.

Jim likes his mai tais at the swim-up bar, I like my virgin pina coladas, but I do give him the cherry, and yeah, I heard what I just said.

How old am I that I use the word "cherry" in that context?

We discovered a beautiful roped off area, free of seaweed and drunks and stray cats, and befriend a young couple who live in a town with the exact same name as ours, only theirs is in Maryland.

Off to a beach barbecue but I will leave you loyal readers with news you've been waiting to hear all day:

I got my step stool!  I can get into bed!

..and have sweet dreams about Corona, the cream-stealing cat