Thursday, February 5, 2015

     We were sitting at our little table in the hotel dining area taking advantage of the “free dinner.” Now I am old enough to know there’s no such thing as a “free lunch,” and there sure as hell can’t be anything “free” about a dinner that’s served on paper plates. But trying to be a good sport, I went along with it. 

     
     As I took my first bite of luke warm cream-smeared pasta peppered with three-day-old chicken strips, I heard this goateed geezer next to us say, “So, where y’all from?” To myself, I said, “Please, God, don’t let my husband engage.” Mr. Wonderful said, “We’re from Wilmington. How about you?” Oh, no. The wife clad in a white linen bonnet smiles her half-tooth smile and says, “Yup, we got a lot of snow back thar.” The geezer shifts on his overalls and says, “Yeah, we’re down here to visit my brother. This is warm to us.” “Warm, scharm. It’s effen cold here,” I mumble in my mind. Sixty-six degrees is not “warm” in my vocabulary, but I smile politely now daring to taste the shredded lettuce laced with the plastic packet Ranch dressing. Ugh. 

    People are so weird. The other day, as I sat in my jeans and jacket at the pool, desperate for a little sunshine, a very ample woman and her husband come to sit down in the two lounge chairs next to us. I admit, I am very territorial. When I am sitting somewhere, I can’t deal with anyone sitting any closer than about ten-feet away, and they must whisper. Obviously, the ample sample didn’t get the body language, and the wife sat down on the chaise facing me to read her book. wtf. Why was she facing me? I felt like she was breathing down my left bicep. I noted her book was entitled, “Super Fat.” At least she was trying.

    Yesterday, we spent the day house hunting. We are real dreamers. We thought we could find a house as beautiful as our own for $100,000 less. We are dumb. Most of the 14 homes we visited were old (15-20 years old). Some were smelly, many were decorated with my dearly departed mother’s favorite colors, pink and turquoise, and the moldings were dusty and scuffed. No dust or scuff for this gal. Mr. Wonderful was focused on the pool. All he could envision was warm sunshine beating down on the pool pavers while he basked in the tropical breeze. All I could think of was “Get me outta here pronto.”

     We are not discouraged, however. We will head out into the realty rubble again this morning. Just like our little jewel at home is waiting for “the right buyer,” we are “just the right buyer” for some fool who wants to give his dream house away to a lovely couple from the midwest.