And I’m gonna answer it! For a whole week! That’ right, it’s time for the Vinyl Villager to take a much needed vacation. With any luck, the week will give me a few things to blog about. But never you fear! Now that I have three loyal readers, I’ve used the magic of the interwebs to set up not one, not two, but THREE posts that will appear in my absence.
As I prepare for this vacation, I have been thinking back to vacations from years past. Forgive the mish-mash nature of my ramblings, but thought you might enjoy a few snippets from my past.
First up…I am 8 or 9 years old. (Whatever age you are in fourth grade). Just weeks before a family trip to Myrtle Beach, I break a finger. Actually, my stepfather broke my finger trying to play dodge ball with one of those bouncy balls you sit on.
Yeah, he got half tanked and started “playing” with us, and wouldn’t you know it, I end up with a shattered pinky. Because I kept knocking the splint off, the doctor decided to cast my hand while the pinky healed. And so off to the beach I went, cast and all. Now, of course you are supposed to keep a cast dry. So I was out in the ocean, grocery bag wrapped with rubber bands around my poor little hand. I held it up in the air to the point of sunburning my armpit, but it was all for nothing when a wave sent me and my cast underwater. The damned thing stunk to the high heavens as it soured. The orthopedic doctor gave Mom quite a dirty look as he cut the misshapen cast off–and asserted that it wasn’t gonna be his fault if my pinky were as crooked as a dog’s hind leg.
The year my stepmother was pregnant with my youngest brother, we let dad pick our vacation spot. He chose Maine. Now, before anyone from Maine get’s their LL Bean panties in a wad, let me just say that I imagine Maine can be a very nice place to visit. It just wasn’t that week.
We arrived without reservations, for some reason not realizing that Canada goes to Maine for vacation. We ended up overpaying for a “junior suite” in a dilapidated motel that smelled of onions. The room was paneled with plywood, the furniture was vintage 60’s, and an electrical problem in the bathroom meant every shower was taken under a disco-like strobe. And the room was already inhabited. By a GIANT spider.
The spider made its presence known by climbing up my stepmom’s back as we unpacked. She screamed, did a cartwheel across the room, and our eight legged friend disappeared. The next morning he snuck up my blanket and woke me. We looked forward to enjoying the one nice thing the motel had–a newer swimming pool, but never got to because it rained the ENTIRE time we were there. We killed time by shopping. Stepmom locked the keys in the car at the mall, and we spent hours waiting for someone to unlock it.
We ate seafood. Only my idea of seafood at the time was Long John Silver’s…and I was not a fan of the fresh lobster. Neither was my stepmom’s stomach. She spent an entire day post-lobster throwing up. (Including a roadside upchuck at the base of someone’s mailbox–sucked to be them the next day!)
With all the puking, rain, and spiders we could stand, we cut the vacation short by several days and went home. It was the last year dad ever picked our vacation spot.
So, I’ll be back in a week or so and will look forward to catching up on all the bloggin’ that happened while I was gone. Until then, I leave y’all with a pic of me in my new swimsuit. (just for TPB!)