And I am all dolled up, and we just took some photos, but I am afraid that they won't turn out too well, as it was all rather sweaty and queasy, and there are throngs of Europeans who are engaging in frenzied dancing to the strains of "Kung Fu Fighting" by Stig Stiggerson And The Abbalicious Four, and it is all rather loud and cruise-ish, and I am starting to remember why "The Love Boat" gave me a migraine every single Saturday night back in the late 70s and early 80s.
Why, oh why, must my love of guacamole be such a sadomasochistic affair? Today was our day at sea, or rather, one of them, so the snacks were as plentiful as they are (apparently) lethal. I enjoy my snacks very much, especially when there is precious little else to do but read and eat, read and eat, read and eat.
As a general rule, I loathe eating in the dining room on a cruise ship, as I find the notion of being forced to sit with a group of people with whom you have absolutely nothing in common and absolutely no inclination to change that status a mixture of the archaic and the ridiculous. It's like being forced to attend a formal wedding reception, night after night, for two weeks. This ship even has the stuffy little namecards.
However, tonight I was going to join Ken at dinner (he, on the other hand, loves the dining arrangements on a ship, so we just agree to disagree and do our own thing for meals). Yet my love of guacamole has once again caused me consternation. I only hope that I get things cleared up for our sojourn into Bangkok tomorrow.
I really look nice as I type this. Pretty black and floral dress, I spent an elephant's pregnancy on my hairstyle, my makeup is perfect, and every now and then I get a waft of Estee Lauder's Pleasures Exotic (a present from Ken for the cruise). However, I can only imagine how bad those photos look.
So...if it's "Sickened Grimace" you dig in a photograph of a woman, let me know and I will purchase you a copy.