Last week we took a road trip to Pennsylvania to attend my youngest sisters wedding. Despite the 13 hour drive up and the 11 hour drive back, it was a nice trip, well at least it was nice once we arrived. The wedding and the bride were both beautiful. I was proud of my husband, as a professed agnostic, it was his first Polish and Catholic wedding. He neither got struck by lightening in the church, nor did his head start spinning ala "Exorcist" style. (Okay, there was one time he started to dance to the organ music, but it wasn't all that noticeable). So all in all, the visit was short but worth it.
I've mentioned before, I no longer do well on road trips. Guess it's a sign of getting old or perhaps I get bored pretty easily, and there's only so much that three people can talk about in a 13 hours span. So during one of the quiet moments, to chase away the boredom and get over the slight depression that the grey skies have created, I let my mind wander and began to day dream. Given my history for fantasies gone awry, you probably ask why I allowed myself to do that. Maybe it's the same reason that I lift the lid off of the dutch oven without a mitt just as it comes out of the oven. I tend to forget the ramifications.
We're on a family vacation to some tropical island and I'm sitting alone on the beach, after my husband abandoned me for a nap and my daughter heads out shopping. In the daydream, I've reached my goal of 125 pounds and look pretty good in a bikini. I'm sitting there, reading some taudry, bodice-ripper novel and this young bronze god comes up and begins to talk to me. Sultry dark eyes that exude promises of passion and long hours of hot, delicious lovemaking. After he introduces himself and a few moments of idle chit chat, he leans over and whispers in my ear "I think your daughter's hot, do you think she'll go out with me?"....*sigh*.
So the bronzed adonis has disappeared and I'm still in the lounge chair reading the bodice-ripper. In the book, I've gotten to the point where the pirate has slung the damsel over his shoulder when another young bronzed god comes up to me and starts chatting. I eye him up, noting how perfectly built he was and how his six-pack abs were the type of abs you'd like to lick the sweat off of after a night of passion. He leans in and whispers "I think your husbands hot, does he have a brother?" ... *sigh*.
Okay so someone in my fantasy has to be interested in me, it is my fantasy after all, isn't it? Well, someone is. As I stand up and begin to wrap my skirt around my hips, someone behind me whistles and whispers..."baby, you're hot". I turn around to find this pale skinned, short man who has more hair on his back then he has on his head (I'm not going into the bad comb over) and wearing a zebra speedo that he really, really, really shouldn't be wearing....*sigh*.
And my friends still wonder why I won't get into fantasy football.
Am I the only one whose fantasies go awry?
). The other 8,700+ hours in the year then pale in comparison. Sort of like having a billion dollars for a few nights and then going back to "reality" for the rest of your life. :)