I'm back from a week-long vacation to Mexico for my sister-in-law's wedding, which wasn't actually a week-long so I'm spending the day today physically at my desk but actually sneaking sips of fruity cocktails to get in my last day. Some highlights:
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Monday, 5:37 a.m. The Hubs and I are thrilled to find there's no lineup at the airport check in. That's what we get for arriving 2 hours and 8 minutes before lift off. Then we find out why: "Your flight has been delayed until 1:25," the check-in chick says. For a moment I could not even comprehend this time. "The plane is caught in bad weather in Cuba." I wanted to say, What the hell is our plane doing in Cuba at 5 am? Isn't it supposed to be sitting on the tarmac in Toronto? And if not, shouldn't it be en route from Mexico? Apparently not. That's what we get for taking a crappy charter flight. It doesn't just make trips back and forth to one beachy destination to pick up and drop off all-inclusive package travellers. Oh no, it also has to squeeze in a few side trips to other islands. Lesson learned: Never fly SkyService.
Monday, 1:23 p.m. The Hubs and I board the plane after spending 7 hours pretending to be on vacation, drinking margaritas and eating guacamole and playing volleyball in the middle of the airport, barefoot. We are relaxed and almost forget the point of the trip. A wedding group on our plane has clearly maxed out on happy hour and are falling down drunk in the aisles. The flight attendant is crying, trying to get them to sit down while they scream at her that they don't want to sit down so that the plane can take off. They tell her that they have been sitting for 7 hours in the airport waiting for this flight to finally leave and are tired of sitting. Lesson learned: If you don't sit down, you'll never get to your destination. The pilot denies the Cuba story and tells us someone drove into the plane in Winnipeg. Another reason not to fly SkyService.
Wednesday, 6 p.m. One of the Hubs' friends, who was supposed to be a groomsmen at our wedding in Mexico 3 years ago but couldn't make the trip at the last minute, has come for this wedding instead. We're not picky about technicalities that he's at the wrong wedding and 3 years late. One Simmons wedding is as good as another. He has only been at the resort for 5 hours but is redder than the weird red shrimp tacos we're eating at dinner.
The Hubs: "Didn't you put on sunscreen?"
He: "I didn't check my luggage. I carried on, so I couldn't bring any."
The Hubs: "They sell it in the gift shop."
He: "It's like 20 bucks. And I've got 3 bottles at home. I'm not going to buy another bottle."
An hour passes.
He: "Do you have some aloe?"
The Hubs: "How much is that in the gift shop?"
He comes back to our room. I'm about to give him the bottle to take when The Hubs stops me. "You're not taking the whole bottle. Hold out your hand."
We compromise - since a handful isn't quite enough for his entire 6'5" body - so The Hubs finds a seashell-shaped soap dish and put some aloe in it and sends him on his way.
Thursday, noon: Our red friend is looking much more brown thanks to the aloe but is wearing sneakers since his feet are too burned and blistered to wear his flip flops. He still hasn't bought sunscreen. I take pity on him and lend him some while the Hubs isn't looking since it's either that or sneak him more aloe. "Oh, I've still got aloe," he says. Since it's clear gel in a blue dish, he was worried the maid would clean out the dish, so he's stored it in the safe for well, safe keeping.
Thursday, 2 p.m. The flowers for the wedding arrive. I pick them up. They are supposed to be orange and yellow. They are pink. And there's no maid of honour bouquet. I point out that they need to come up with another bouquet in an hour - and since they've gone against the original color scheme, they should make this bouquet pink too.
Florist: "We don't have any more flowers."
Me: "None? Anywhere? What about the other 17 people who will be getting married this week?What will you do for them?"
Florist: "No more flowers."
Apparently this is not a negotiation.
So I grab my mother in law and we beg the concierge to let us steal the lilies from the floral arrangements in the lobby bar, then duck into bushes and snap off birds of paradise and lilies from wild plants. As we're walking back to the room - where my mother in law says that she not only has scissors but also floral tape in her suitcase as though doesn't everyone carry floral tape on vacation? - people keep stopping us to tell us what a lovely bouquet we have. Then my mother in law makes a maid of honour bouquet that's 10 times better than the bridal bouquet (and likely would've cost about $100 at home), and the bride likes it so much she uses it instead of the lame pink one.
4:30 p.m. Another bouquet arrives. They not only have somehow found more flowers, but they're actually orange and yellow, as requested. Probably some bride tomorrow will be missing a bouquet.
Friday, noon: Tired of buffet food, I eat a healthy lunch of guacamole and nacho chips for the fourth day in a row. One of the ladies there for the wedding tells me that her friend (who is also at the wedding) doesn't like pink salmon, only red salmon. I realize that the restaurant smells like salmon, which must be the fish of the day that they're grilling and this is the reason the topic has arisen.
Me: "Is it red salmon or pink salmon on the buffet?"
She: "Oh I don't know."
Me: "How can you tell the difference?"
She: "Oh I don't know. But she just can't eat pink salmon."
For some reason, this seems like normal conversation.
Friday, 4 p.m.: A new batch of vacationers arrive, including what looks like a new breed of Laguna Beach castaways, and the guys join into the beach volleyball game The Hubs and I are playing. Lucky for me there are five of them on my side, and they push me out of the way to clobber the ball. I am stuck staring at their butt cracks since they're wearing their bathing suits (and boxers underneath) so low. Grody. The Hubs gives me looks of pity from the other side of the court. I'm afraid they're going to rip my boob out of my bikini top on the way to get the ball so I put on my t-shirt. In the next game, their girlfriends arrive, clad in bikinis and fake boobs. "Guys against girls!" one guy yells and then chest-bumps one of his friends. The guys go to the other side with The Hubs and the girls join my side. There are 7 of them and 1 of me. Even though there should only be 6 players, the entertainment coordinator decides arbitrarily that they can have 7, but not 8. "You, without the bikini, you have to sit out." I skulk back to my beach chair to eat more guacamole. The Hubs joins me. "They sucked anyway." He says, which is probably just to make me feel better, and it does.