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When Paradise Isn’t Perfect
When I stopped in the office yesterday, a few things happened. First the secretary told me to leave and not come back until my tan had faded. Then, folks started asking me how my vacation had been. Now if you know me, you know that such a question is going to get a less-than-brief answer. However, I don’t think those poor vacation-curious folks fully appreciated the can of crazy-crabby they opened. Let me explain.
The question “how was your vacation?” is a troublesome one. Because really, no one actually wants to know if the water gave you diarrhea, they just haven’t figured out a shorter way to say, “please summarize your vacation into a select number of sound bites that will both mollify my jealousy that you went to ‘x’ while I was stuck here in Craphole USA as well as give me a reason to save for a vacation rather than Botox and a tummy tuck.” But since I’m a helpful soul, I do try to give a clear picture of how my vacation actually went.
Missives posted on Mondays and Fridays. Unless the coffee and chocolate run out...
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