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Wishing He Had Remembered a Muzzle
It’s not all doom and gloom around these parts while I sit on my ass and wait for my future to be determined by a group of soul sucking zombies er, government bureaucrats. In an active attempt to avoid the looming emotional crisis that October represents for our family, the hubs and I went out and did something we’ve never done before.
We hired a hooker.
Kidding. In his dreams. Actually, his dreams would consist more of the sexy (and now slightly knocked up) Halle Berry, me and a can of whip cream. Or more likely, Halle Berry, the whip cream and me locked in the basement, pounding on the door, screaming to get out.
No, no hooker. However, we went to see our friendly, neighbourhood travel agent. All right, so we just randomly picked one out of the phone book, but turned out, she WAS friendly. Just not in our neighbourhood. (To be fair, our neighbourhood consists primarily of a bunch of trees, a few bears, some moose and the odd hillbilly.)
It must have been Boo’s lucky day. Our agent was hot. He got even luckier when her and I hit it off immediately. I never once got mad at him over his clumsy attempts at flirting or his obvious attempts to check out her rack.
Okay, so I was checking out her cleavage as well, but it was impressive. I was in the midst of developing a serious case of boob envy.
Ahem.
After spending some time oogling like a pair of perverts discussing foreign travel, weather patterns and just how shallow our pockets really are, Boo and I held hands and took the plunge. We handed over our credit card and booked our very first ever, vacation. Thousands of dollars later, we had our pool chaises reserved on a stretch of white sandy beach overlooking the warm waves of a blue ocean. I think I saw my travel agent rubbing her hands together with glee as she rang in our card when she thought we weren’t looking.
At one point, the excitement and the pot of coffee I ingested, got the better of me. I excused myself to find my way to the loo, looking at all the travel posters and imagining what life would be like if I was born closer to the equator. (I have to say, I think I’d miss the snow and the forgiving nature of my winter wardrobe.)
When I sat back down in the office, next to my hubs, he looked mighty pleased with himself. Worried he might have said something to embarrass me himself, I looked to the travel agent, then back to him and asked what’s up with the cheshire grin.
“I booked us first class, baby!” He was bursting at the seams with pride and excitement.
“Oh. Great. What does that mean, exactly, other than spending more of our children’s college funds?” I inquired.
“Well,” started our lovely, well-endowed travel lady, “it simply means that your flight will be more comfortable. Which is important since a vacation starts with the flight.”
“Great. Why will my flight be more comfortable? Do I get mandatory foot rubs by hot Swedish airline employees while a staff of scantily clad men and women feed me hand peeled grapes?” A girl can dream, can’t she?
“No. It just means your seat is bigger. And you get free juice.” Funny, she avoided making eye contact with me when she let me down.
“What? Bigger seat? Are you implying something? Is this because you saw the size of my derriere when I went to the bathroom? Because I’m bloated. It’s almost that time of the month. It’s just water weight!”
My darling hubs was now cowering in his seat, wishing I would shut the fuck up. Our lovely travel agent looked like she had just walked in on her mommy giving Santa a holiday treat and she hastily tried to undo the damage.
“Of course not! I just meant bigger seats mean -”
“Bigger asses can fit in them.” I couldn’t help it. Boo shot me a murderous look, silently ordering me to be nice to the lady with the nice boobies.
“No, no!” she sputtered as she looked around in vain, worried her boss might have overheard her call me a lard ass and praying for some divine intervention. “I didn’t mean that at all. Your bottom is lovely. Er, I mean, it is quite small and could fit into any seat comfortably. I just thought your husband might be more comfortable in the larger seat.” She finished the sentence with a small sigh and looked like she dodged a bullet.
“Oh, in that case, I agree. He does have a rather large ass. Don’t you, honey?” I leaned over to pat his hand.
Funny, he wasn’t amused. Muttering something about how he could dress me up, but couldn’t take me out, he apologized to the agent for my behaviour and explained how I had forgotten the medication that makes me normal that morning.
The poor lady. She couldn’t decide if she was amused or confused by the time Boo and I had signed our lives away and reached for our coats.
Let the good times roll. You see, the vacation doesn’t start with the flight, my dear. It starts with tormenting the delicious travel agent and seeing how many times you can make your husband squirm with embarrassment and wish he had never fallen for my mesmerizing charms.
It only gets better from here.
October 5th, 2007 at 8:23 am
It is part of the Canadian Dream: to be anywhere (warmer) than here in winter.
October 5th, 2007 at 8:25 am
You didn’t really do that to the poor woamn, did you?
Please tell me you didn’t.
So…. where are you going? Cuba, right?
October 5th, 2007 at 8:42 am
we’re heading out of England for the sun in Dec. In little cheap seats though….hope my huge arse fits!
I just saw this blog and thought of you …..I am dim in that I forget where you are in the adoption process, but did you ever see such a beauty as this baby looking for a home?
http://unringingthebell.typepad.com/
October 5th, 2007 at 8:49 am
I am beyond jealous.
I dream of sand between my toes, tropical drinks with umbrellas and cabana boys catering to my every whim.
October 5th, 2007 at 9:19 am
I think you get hot towels with the upgrade also.
October 5th, 2007 at 10:16 am
You’re just mean.
And in first class you get happy endings…..oh wait, that’s in the VIP room at the Gold club. Never mind.
October 5th, 2007 at 10:18 am
Can you pack me?
October 5th, 2007 at 10:41 am
I know nothing about flights; I never go anywhere. Not that I’m bitter. I am lobbying for a vacation with my hubby too.
So glad you booked it…
October 5th, 2007 at 10:57 am
How fun. I think first class comes with complimentary al-kee-hall as well.
October 5th, 2007 at 11:40 am
First: kudos on the vacation - can I live vicariously through you? Second: omg we would kill all members of the service industry with our similar behaviour - it’s true, you can dress me up but hell taking me out is a wild ride. It drives SB nuts. I *heart* Red Neck Mommy
October 5th, 2007 at 11:42 am
You crack me up.
First class: comfortable seating, leg room, drinks before you take off, real food, and real silverware. The crew treats you like an adult that spent hard earned money on a airplane ride, unlike the poor souls sitting 10 feet behind you who mananged to sneak onto the plane.
All this I found out after the airlines screwed up on my flight, and I told them they could make it all better by upgrading me. I am bitter…
October 5th, 2007 at 12:02 pm
I hope she has a blog too. I’d love to hear her end of this story.
October 5th, 2007 at 2:15 pm
Heh.
I am so thrilled for you. A vacation…in the Caribbean? Hawaii?
Sounds divine.
October 5th, 2007 at 2:48 pm
You deserve a first class vacation all the way.
If that’s what the travel agent gets, I can’t wait to see what you do to the stewardess
October 5th, 2007 at 3:36 pm
Haha. You made her day. She can talk about you two tonight with her friends.
Good for you booking a holiday…
October 5th, 2007 at 4:16 pm
Hey, some of my fantasies might have involved Halle Berry and a can of whipped cream, too… erm, I mean…. A vacation! How lovely!
October 5th, 2007 at 4:52 pm
I would have been too absorbed in trying not to let my husband see me checking out the huge bazooka’s to even notice that I could possibly be insulted. You know the travel industry breeds chicks like that. They have a stupendously endowed girl farm out in the hills. So you are so distracted by the enormous breasticles you will upgrade to first class.
You been had Redneck Mommy.
Enjoy your trip. I am insanely jealous.
October 6th, 2007 at 6:30 am
How many drinks to get you down the beach naked?
Let’s see, if you get free juice on your flight I’d put you naked 23 minutes after landing.
October 6th, 2007 at 12:11 pm
I think Moosh has nailed it. Who’s starting the online betting pool?
October 6th, 2007 at 6:32 pm
Jealous. Still waiting for the day my hubby will spring for first class. He wouldn’t even do it when I was 6 months pregnant and big as a whale. Jerk. Have fun!!
October 7th, 2007 at 6:19 pm
Can I just say how much I wish you were my next door neighbour funny lady.
I am so jealous of your trip … makes me wanna plan my own.
October 8th, 2007 at 4:59 am
I’ll enter the pool. I think it will take more than “free juice” to get Redneck Mommy naked in public. I say the sand, sea and “relaxed atmosphere” (read “alcohol”) will finally loosen her inhibitions in twelve hours. She’ll have to get rid of the jet lag first.
Congrats on the Vacation. You and Boo are a laugh riot.
October 8th, 2007 at 6:26 am
Run down the beach naked if you must. Just don’t sit in the sand. You’ll be finding it in your panties for months to come.
October 8th, 2007 at 9:34 am
I’m guessing two Coronas and two Bahama Mamas will have you chasing Boo down the beach nekkid. Watch out for crabs!