As I type this, I’m sitting on a plane to Vegas, between the boys. They are both so tall and their shoulders are so wide, they make me feel very tiny. I’ve already spilled my iced latte all over my feet, which is an inauspicious start to my trip, but you could also argue that things can only go straight up from here, and I will not argue with you, because that’s where I want things to go.
This is going to be a good trip, I think. We’re celebrating Weetabix’s birthday, and people are flying and driving in from all over the country–people I haven’t seen in far too long, and it will be a reunion, joyous and booze-filled, covered in sweat (because it will be one hundred and four degrees in the shade) and full up with rooftop pools and beach parties and Bingo in sparkly fancy gowns and elbow-length gloves because we are totally high rollers.
I plan on doing very little aside from drinking fruity drinks that will
hopefully come either in glasses that are hilariously shaped, or
pineapples. I will sit by the pool in my big floppy hat and my giant
sunglasses, idly sipping something icy and with vitamin C in it,
occasionally reapplying my sunblock and gazing admiringly over my
extremely trashy book about vampires at a pair of well-tanned,
gravity-defying bosoms. I will do this for three days. I can’t think of
a single thing that sounds even slightly better than that.
As a supplement to all my dedicated loafing, I will also engage in
lengthy naps with the air-conditioner turned all the way up while I am
wearing a fluffy robe and with all the blankets in the room piled on
top of me. In the evening, I will take long showers to wash off all
the coconut smell, slather myself in sparkly, good-smelling lotion,
apply actual makeup to my actual face, and wear slinky cocktail dresses
that will make me feel wildly fabulous in a sexy-sexy kind of way.
Then, I will dance, in three-inch heels. Later, I will wear spangly
cocktail dresses and opera gloves and more sky-high heels and play
video poker and maybe by that time I will be drunk enough to take up
smoking again, but only for the night. Maybe only for half a cigarette,
because I will not have very good hand-eye coordination by that point.
At least, I hope so.
Other possibilities on my list: more naps. Turning over in my deck
chair. Napping by the pool. The roller coaster at New York, New York. A
nap afterward. Perhaps a buffet. No one will notice if I bring a doggy
bag, right? I bet I could live off a buffet doggy bag for weeks.
After the food, perhaps a nap. Maybe I will go crazy and take a dip in
the pool! That will wear me out, so I will require a nap. Perhaps a nap
by the pool. The possibilities, really, are endless, and the
permutations my weekend could take are endlessly fascinating to me,
though probably rather less than fascinating to you.
What I’m basically trying to say, here, is that I am looking forward to
this weekend. And napping. And drinking with very nice people, and
maybe we will even drink enough that we will nap together. Won’t that
be cozy? We can all wear robes. By the end of this weekend, I fully
expect to be thoroughly tired of the taste of alcoholic pineapples,
mid-afternoon naps, and a life of luxury in a very starred hotel. I
will work hard to make sure that this is so, in fact.
So wish me luck in that, and in video poker, too, and Weetabix a very
happy birthday, and I wish for everyone to have as lovely a weekend as
I hope to.