In a little over three weeks I leave for Mexico. The thought of this trip – sun! sand! time to finish a book and just sit places and forget about all this shitty shit!- has been a huge help in getting me through the past months. If you too need help to single-parent your way through a prairie winter while divorcing, I give an approaching trip to Mexico trip 4/5 stars for efficacy.
It would be 5/5, but sunburns. Sunburns and the fact that the reason I am going is to attend a wedding. Also, the last time I was in Mexico was during my honeymoon almost six years ago. So there’s that! Ha! Hahahaha!
Oh god, it’s so ironic. Alanis, where are you?
We RSVP’d ages ago, and initially I decided to forfeit our deposits and cancel the whole thing. I called the bride, one of my best friends named Celene, and told her what had happened. Celene is an amazingly gorgeous pug aficionado and has the biggest and best hair I have ever seen. I fell in love with her when we worked together as youth workers, bonding over the shared delights and frustrations of working with at-risk teens, and we have been friends ever since.
I apologized profusely, and said that there was no way I could go. Financially, emotionally – the whole thing was just not looking good. She tried to change my mind, and then she put her smooth-talking husband-to-be, my friend named Tyler, on the phone. He once lived with me for four months, and ate half of my Christmas gift before giving it to me. He was so incensed that I didn’t mention him in my book that I had to name-check him in a live radio interview just so that he’d speak to me again. Needless to say, I adore him.
But also, the dude can talk. Between his velvety prose and her yell-laughing they somehow managed to convince me to come. I think they offered to pay for unlimited massages and shopping while I was there (That was the deal, right guys?)
I booked my ticket, but still I had my doubts. I felt like I needed to issue a disclaimer or something.
Me: Celene, I don’t think you really understand who you are inviting to your wedding.
Celene: What are you talking about?
Me: Do you have any idea what is going to happen? I am going to ugly cry my way through your entire ceremony, probably sobbing so loudly during your vows that you’ll miss your cue to say “I do” and just stand there awkwardly staring at the officiant until everyone starts to get nervous and shift in their seats wondering if you’re going to pull a runner. At the reception I will get slowly but determinedly drunk, tear up the dance floor with my signature moves, and shock your elderly relatives by seducing an attractive Mexican busboy. Make no mistake, there’s a good chance I will ruin your wedding. You’ll probably find me the next morning half-drowned in shame and queso.
Celene: *slight pause* Oh my god…I can’t wait.
And that, ladies and gentlemen? That is why we are friends.
So, Mexico! I’m excited. I very much need this, and am looking forward to swimming and bikinis, feeling the sun on my skin and hearing nothing but waves and laughter. Let’s focus on that, and not the fact that I’m going to be leaving Olive for seven days which is five days longer than I have ever left her, ever in her life and how will she ever survive, OK?
(Who am I kidding, she will be having so much fun with her Nana that she probably won’t even notice I’m gone. More importantly, how will I survive?!)
Beach yoga. I’m sure that’s a thing, right? I’ll survive with beach yoga.
Two of my sisters are fluent in Spanish and I’m planning to bribe them to give me a crash course before I go so that I can muster more than the resort Spanish I picked up last time. It’s always kind of embarrassing when the only words you know in another language are “more” “beer” “a little bit” and “yes, please”. I mean that’s arguably all you need for a great night, but we can also admit that it’s perhaps a tad limited in scope, non?
I need mere than that, I need useful everyday phrases like “The good vodka, please”, “Is that purse fair-trade?”, “My daughter has a pot-belly as well”, “What do you mean you don’t recycle?”, and “Hello. I am very famous from The Internets. No, no, don’t Google me. We, uh, we don’t have Google in Canada.”
Anyway, the point of this post is to give you guys some advance notice so that you can unfollow me, because in just over three weeks I will become that jerk spamming ya Instagram feed with feet-in-sand photos – get ready!
(P. S. You have until Friday at noonish to enter the giveaway !)