Jamaican flip flop

All my bags are packed.. I’m ready to go.

What a fantastic little romantic getaway… just what the doctor ordered.. for everyone in the country.

Last night’s dinner falls into the category of “be careful what you order.”

The restaurant had a lively, happy hour for hours vibe that we were both digging.

The server was as sweet as Mary Poppins, as all the people we’ve encountered seem to be.

Not only were we not charged for the stolen towels, we were given warm fluffy ones to replace them.. an amenity we could have had all week had we just spoken up instead of complaining about in this stupid blog which I thank you all for reading.

I get so distracted.

Oh yeah.. our meal started with delicious chicken tortilla soup that we shared, and ended with the fresh key lime pie cup, our first dessert that wasn’t ice cream.

Because I’m not adventurous enough to think outside the lobster trap and order seafood or fish I don’t actually hate, like crab cakes, I ordered a mediocre burger with fries that were barely touched.

Jim got a grouper sandwich, Jamaican style, which tasted, he claimed, like the flip flops he wore on our honeymoon in Montego Bay nearly thirty six years ago. It was so gelatinous and repulsive that he actually sent a photo to Chat GBT to get their opinion, instead of sending it back for fear of offending Mary Poppins.

“It’s fine,” he said, because he’s polite and from Ohio”

“ nothing beats this microwaved buffalo snot” he said to me, because it doesn’t matter if he has the manners of a mid westerner around someone he accidentally shared a toothbrush with all week.

(They were both pink.)

We look out the window and see the flashing lights of an emergency vehicle, and I’m thinking the hospitalty in this resort is so amazing that they just sensed that Jim and his grouper sandwich were never going to be best friends.

Turns out the flashing lights were due to a literal flasher.

I usually ignore heavily intoxicated men, especially if they’re smoking cigarettes on a crowded street, but curiousity got the best of me, so I asked the less creepy intoxicated man about why there were so many emergency vehicles on this street of stores that sell sunglasses and bar revelers singing Jimmy Buffett songs.

“ seems some guy had to much to drink and exposed himself,” said the guy who had too much to drink as he blew cigarette smoke into Jim’s nauseated face. “ you don’t mess with that shit here in Florida. Not in THIS county, anyway.”

He continues.

“My son was down here a few years ago and he had too much to drink too. But he didn’t expose himself, no madam.. he did not. He just went into a diabetic coma but they take care of you if you drink too much in this here part of Florida.”

“Oh yeah?? Do they “take care” of you when your husband is too polite to send back a plate of slime?”

Going home to dry towels, an incontinent poodle with vision problems, and a very full DVR.

See you next trip!