It’s been ten days since Michael and I disembarked following our latest island sampler. Only ten days? (Sigh)
Both Mike and I have learned that it’s just about right now, ten days, when we go through what we call “Cruise Withdrawal.” After being treated like a King and Queen for X-number of days, after being overly accommodated by the ship’s overly accommodating crew who bow and harmonize in their attempts to please us and appease us, it’s now back to being normal Walmart shoppers. After non-stop buffet lines of gourmet food and deserts at our beck and call, suddenly it’s back to inserting our own feeding tubes attached to giant syringes full of (big yawn...) salads, fruits, veggies, and (horror of horrors!) making our own coffee.
After nearly two weeks of stewards humping to serve us hand and foot--cleaning our cabin home and our loo, making our bed--it’s now back to vacuuming our own rugs, washing our own dishes and making our own bed (that's all YOU, Mikey).
And don't get me started on the "entertainment a la carte"--casinos, mini orchestras, movie theaters under the stars and Vegas-style live performances every night--it’s back to the old boob tube offering for our viewing pleasure--“Vampire Diaries” once a week for me (gotta get my Damon fix) and reruns of “Cops” and “Jail” for Mike. It sucks (well, mine "sucks" anyway--ooh, pun intended).
The only good news in all this is that we also have both discovered that in another week or so we will back in the groove, and home life will be the norm again. But that “norm” is still a week away and right now it's dinner time and I'm hoping Mike has that big buffet ready for me. . . .
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Sign of the Times
