Last entry from my impromptdu travelogue of our recent trip to Antigua.
To say the trip was magical and exceeded all expectations would be an understatement. Ms. Muse and I seriously did not want to leave. Which speaks volumes regarding her strong constitution. Make no mistake, to put up with me for 8 consecutive days is no small achievement.
Hell, I get tired of me in about 37 minutes.
It should also be noted that this vacation was the first I have had in 7 years. Since an ill-fated trip to Tulum, that was marred by sargassum, moped crashes, overripe fish and crooked Federales.
And as many of you know, those 7 years -- since 2016 when you know who ascended to the White House -- have been particularly difficult.
It is only as of late that I feel myself emerging from a dark cloud that has relentlessly let loose its fury.
In short, our Antiga getaway was just what the doctor ordered. In addition to the Norco my doctor prescribed for a post nasal drip that I had days before the trip. He tried to prescribe Promethazine, a codeine enhanced cough medicine to quiet my thunderous lungs, but pharmacies are not stocking it anymore. I abhor the Nanny State.
It was as if I had been inhaling a nonstop stream of tragedy and heartache, but once plopped in a lounge chair just a few hundred miles north of the equator, cooled by a feathery trade wind, and handed a casually crafted rum punch, my body was given permission to exhale.
I'm still exhaling.
I have Pandora set to a Caribbean music channel.
I've picked up some bottled Jerk Chicken sauce at Pavilions.
I'm finding all manner of seashells, left surreptitiously by Ms. Muse, scattered about my house.
And I'm still walking around with my button down shirt unbuttoned. Actually not walking, but kind of dancing.
If I could only do that without the reflexive white man overbite.
Maybe my dentist has an appliance for that?
I'll end with a shot of Sheryl (aka, Ms. Muse) and I, being happy.
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