You Cruise, You Lose

How shocking is it for me to tell you that this latest unmerited departure by the Union family was in fact, you guessed it, a cruise. A Central American, gorgeous sunset laden cruise. Ellen has a cruise obsession, which is strange because she spends the entire venture in bed, annoyed that we want her to come play with us. 

While I was away this summer, Ellen found this particular voyage and then managed to convince Mom and Dad that they also should come along. I was only informed about it a few weeks back but had I been present at the time of the planning, I would have warned Chris about ever sharing a small cabin with Princess Black Cloud and tried to convince my folks that surface level travel of this kind only leaves a gapping hole in your soul when you return home and realize that it’s over and it was all just a mean tease. All those places, all those potential lives, for just a second and then it’s gone.
Now, I see how it would appear that I’m complaining about this vacation but you’ve got it all wrong. I had a great time. So great in fact, that I am angry. I’m simply fuming that it’s over.

So I’ll begin my reporting by telling you that I was shot in the eye with a rubber band, bitten by the abundantly healthy ants that reside on a banana plantation, I banged my knee in the same place three times, blew out my shoulder, caught a cold, battled seasickness, had approximately two panic attacks, and ate something ethnic that did not agree with my white girl stomach. 

I shared a very small room with Ellen and Chris and that Yankee boy has conditioned Ellen to sleeping in sub-zero temperatures. When I politely objected, I was ignored. While the two of them enjoyed a queen-sized bed, I slept on a cot that folded out of the ceiling. I enjoyed my cot. It was the only thing I had for two weeks that was all mine. But the cot was directly in line with the A.C. vent that this cold-hearted pair was so devoted to. Another night passed by. “Y’all I was so cold I couldn’t sleep.” I said with humorous outrage.
“When do you want to eat breakfast?” Ellen asked Chris as I stood by shivering.

After a week I got a sore throat and then a sniffle and began bundling up in bathrobes and towels at night to try to keep warm. After days without real sleep and trying some “compromising” temperatures the nice girl finally snapped. I climbed down from my ceiling bed at 3 am and turned the AC off. I realized that if they get to decide that I will be cold then I must have the right to decide that they could be hot. I slept like a baby and woke up to dramatic groaning by Ellen who was appalled by having been warm in her sleep. “Weeee weee weee I was hot! Weee Weee!” she cried. I smiled proudly and then we got into a big fight. And just so you know, Mom will back me up on how cold it was. I ain’t being unreasonable or nuthin’.

The boat-time itself was lovely. The tired and overworked crew were so friendly and quick to giggle. The crew is always my favorite part of a cruise. So many foreigners with so many stories all in one place! Also, the gallons of food we consumed daily were delicious. Even Dad ate dessert.
On sea days we played lots of Shanghai and read books and took naps. Ellen stayed in bed until meal times and was cross with us for keeping her out past 9:30. Chris chose not to let Ellen’s sluggishness get him down and instead could be found out dancing with new friends until two or three most nights. The Slapper mostly behaved himself and refrained from inciting us with any physical abuse, though he is the reason I blew out my shoulder. Dad was full of one-liners on this trip which were either very funny or the very wrong thing to say. With most crew members hailing from other countries, Dad’s humor did not always translate properly, though that never stopped him from inappropriate, gut-busting laughter.

As the fifth wheel, I entertained myself by befriending the ship's guitarist on account of his voice being like butter and needing to hear him sing something by Isakov or I would surely die. Forget crowd-pleasing hits. His voice needed to sing the tormented melodies I’ve come to favor over happy songs. “Have you heard of Jason Isbell?” I asked him one night as he sat crooning that glossy, velvety voice to an oblivious crowd. “I haven’t.” he said politely, and then I glared judgmentally at him, as though I had even known of Isbell just a few months back. “A voice like that and you’re singing Brown Eyed Girl?” 

It was unacceptable. I made him a list of songs and artists and I shoved it into his talented little hands and told him he’d better get to work. I really schooled him. Here's to you HonBon's.

Mom sat back as a bystander on this trip. At least, I saw her as having to endure a trip with the Clampetts. Always quiet and ladylike, Mom rolled her eyes at Ellen's 'tude, cringed at Dad's jokes, and chuckled at stories of Chris' late night ventures. Moppy and I had very little time for our usual sitting about and chatting though the two of us managed a few outings for afternoon sweets.

Enough about time at sea. I'll bore you next with reports on ports. RePorts. I will state here for the record, that I did not do so well with my picture taking on land. Flawless snapshots were everywhere but I was never capable of stopping to take them. I was always on a bus or in a pushy mob of Yankees that wouldn't let me stray. Passing up such gorgeous scenes hurt my heart a little.