Well, what do you know, April 15th has rolled around again, which can only mean one thing…yes, it’s time to pay your *%$#@(*# taxes, but more importantly it’s time for a trip to the islands! Joe and I are part of a group of five couples that trek to some remote island paradise once tax season is in the record books. This means that Joe starts out the week in an almost comatose zombie-like state after having worked approximately 170 hours per week for several weeks immediately prior to departure. By the time we head home, he’s got a nice island buzz going, which is usually killed immediately upon walking back into the office, but that’s a discussion for another time.
While Joe has been working diligently getting everyone’s extensions filed, I have spent the past week on a mission that strikes fear into the hearts of womankind the world over…swimsuit shopping. I have discovered that you are pretty much SOL unless you are (a) under 25, (b) under 110 pounds or (c) are flat chested, i.e. have no boobs that need wrangling. It doesn’t seem fair that while men’s swimsuits have grown to the point they could literally be called capris, women’s suits have shrunk to the size of a napkin…a cocktail napkin. So far, I have bought one and ordered another, at a cost that rivaled that of my wedding dress back in October. I shit you not. And I still don’t look like Kate Upton or even her mother. I do however bear a striking resemblance to the Pillsbury Doughboy in spandex, or a half opened can of biscuits. Either way, it’s not a good look. Apparently I need a bigger miracle than the “Miracle Suit” can pull off.
Our fearless travel guru, Julia, has once again outdone herself finding us a great destination and a great house. It is a difficult job and one I don’t want anywhere near, but somehow every year she manages to take us up a notch. We are beyond spoiled having her plan it all for us. We really ought to give her a break next year and let someone else do the work, but frankly, we just aren’t all that considerate. Luckily, she loves us anyway…or maybe it’s just that she doesn’t trust any of us to come up with a place that has running water and functioning toilets. Our past destinations have included Virgin Gorda, Tortola and Eluthera. It’s not that we can’t go back to any of those places, but why chance it?
We leave on Saturday bound this year for Turks & Caicos and will be staying at Villa Paprika, which is on the beach, boasts a gorgeous pool and five, yes five, master suites. Two of them even have two king-size beds. I figure that’s perfect for the couples that think they might not like each other much by the end of the week. Turks is also a direct flight from Dallas and the house a five minute ride after landing. I must confess that I won’t miss our usual stops in Miami or San Juan. I can’t wait to get there and into my dreaded swimsuit.
In conclusion, I thought I would take this opportunity to remind my traveling buddies of “the rules.” We came up with these the first year and they still apply. They are for your own protection, so no grumbling.