Blackjack and Pink Sand

My feet have found dry land!

The cruise to Bermuda was amazing. I dug my toes deep into the soft salmon sands and tropical crystal waters of Horseshoe Bay. I rode the waves like a newborn fish enjoying the music of the sea and the human laughter. Even though the sun spoke my language, I was a good girl and massaged in the sunblock anyway. Sometimes you have to turn down a solar seduction, even if it feels right at the moment. From the leather faces roaming around in search of a Corona with lime, I stand by my skincare choices proudly.

I could see myself living on a cruise ship and enjoying the all-you-can-eat buffet until I couldn't fit through the double doors. I'd flip flop to the top deck and help myself to more than one ice cream cone, happily licking the melted white trails off of my hands and clothes. I'd plop down on a chair, snuggle up with a book, and afix my sunglasses to my face so no one could see exactly where I was looking. As soon as the waitor with the mysterious accent, floral patterned shirt and khaki shorts walked by, I'd seize his drink tray and help myself to mango madness, or a pina colada, or both. What the hell? It's a cruise afterall.

If and when I'd had enough of my glutinous lifestyle, I'd meandor back to my cabin and throw myself onto the bed. At this point I'd either order in the playboy channel, or grab my fat partner in crime for some fun calorie burning. After my ridiculous internal tantrum subsided, and I was fully rested, I'd wander back down to the buffet line and help myself to a caesar salad and barbeque ribs with a side of icy cool lemonade and cheesecake. Who actually diets on a cruise?

I'd sit by the window and watch the waves roll across the endless sapphire ocean. I'd imagine jumping overboard and rocking gently with the dance of the sea, like a buoy. When I finished my daydream I'd walk to the casino and play a game of blackjack with the British dealer- the one with the unmanagable coiffe and sexy sophisticated accent. I'd take him home and teach him what Randy Bachman really meant when he sang"knocking me out with those American thighs." I'd hit it big and leave.

Then I'd go to the super expensive spa and have their cellulite reduction therapy. It would work like a charm. I'd fit into a size two and go out that night ready to do it all over again the next day.

The best part of Bermuda would have to be the fact that it's miles away from anyone you know, anywhere you work, or even the faintest bit of reality, so whatever you imagine can quite easily become possible.