Snorkling in Nassau
I woke up Sunday morning and rushed to the upper deck to take a glimpse at Nassau. I expected turquoise water and lots of dreadlocks. Instead, I found myself deck against deck with a military vessel the size of which swamped our little 13 deck ship. Dissappointment dissipated when my eyes focused off the gray warship and onto the handsome little devils in sailor suits. "Holy God in Heaven" I proclaimed. Nassau is everything I'd hoped for! I immediately felt the need to bend over and tie my shoelaces. I was wearing sandals, but I stayed down long enough for my cleavage to spill out and draw in applause from Captain Munch-me and his crew of faithful SlapMyAss-Sailors.
I grabbed a Carnival drink off the strolling tray and stepped off the ship.
From the cement, I cannot see the sailors. Nor can they see me. But glory off the Glory awaits, because I can light my cigarette and drink my adult beverage in peace whilst the hubby inspects the various shore excursion lines.
Mom, are we there yet?
Are we in Nassau? Yes.
No, are we snorkling?
Right now? Snorkling? In the cement? No dear, I don't think so.
Mom!!!!
No, we're not there yet. We have to find our line. Then we have to take a boat to Pearl Island. Then we're there.
We just got off a boat. Why do we have to take another boat?
Because...because...look over there! A Bahamian!
No it's not.
Okay, it's your dad. Go ask him if we're there yet.
Thirty minutes or so later, we arrive at Pearl Island. We are escorted from the boat and treated to something with alcohol. I really don't know what it was, but I'll ask CadyBug, since at the tender age of fourteen, she managed to use her boobs to deceive the bartender into giving her one without asking her age or requesting ID. Now, what is a parent to do? Well, once you discover this hidden ability, you use it to milk more free drinks for yourself, of course. Oh right, and lecture something about underage drinking...blah blah blah...whatever. Like that was her first.
Oh, yeah...we snorkled. Pretty fish, pretty water, stupid tourist kicking saltwater down my snorkling tube forcing me to gasp, struggle, and disappear. Props to that person - I got helped to shore by a hot Bahamian man! Go me, Go me...
Before I nearly died, I found a conch shell. I was thrilled. I popped up out of the water and used my bouyant cleavage to garner the attention of the nearest straight male*, who gladly dove twelve feet under the water to retrieve it for me. Here it is:
We had lunch. Something with bbq sauce. And alcohol.
*I am not usually surrounded by straight males. In fact, history has proven that in my presence you could fling a dead cat into a crowd of thousands and still not hit a straight male.*
Tomorrow: Swallowing Conch
I grabbed a Carnival drink off the strolling tray and stepped off the ship.
From the cement, I cannot see the sailors. Nor can they see me. But glory off the Glory awaits, because I can light my cigarette and drink my adult beverage in peace whilst the hubby inspects the various shore excursion lines.
Mom, are we there yet?
Are we in Nassau? Yes.
No, are we snorkling?
Right now? Snorkling? In the cement? No dear, I don't think so.
Mom!!!!
No, we're not there yet. We have to find our line. Then we have to take a boat to Pearl Island. Then we're there.
We just got off a boat. Why do we have to take another boat?
Because...because...look over there! A Bahamian!
No it's not.
Okay, it's your dad. Go ask him if we're there yet.
Thirty minutes or so later, we arrive at Pearl Island. We are escorted from the boat and treated to something with alcohol. I really don't know what it was, but I'll ask CadyBug, since at the tender age of fourteen, she managed to use her boobs to deceive the bartender into giving her one without asking her age or requesting ID. Now, what is a parent to do? Well, once you discover this hidden ability, you use it to milk more free drinks for yourself, of course. Oh right, and lecture something about underage drinking...blah blah blah...whatever. Like that was her first.
Oh, yeah...we snorkled. Pretty fish, pretty water, stupid tourist kicking saltwater down my snorkling tube forcing me to gasp, struggle, and disappear. Props to that person - I got helped to shore by a hot Bahamian man! Go me, Go me...
Before I nearly died, I found a conch shell. I was thrilled. I popped up out of the water and used my bouyant cleavage to garner the attention of the nearest straight male*, who gladly dove twelve feet under the water to retrieve it for me. Here it is:
We had lunch. Something with bbq sauce. And alcohol.
*I am not usually surrounded by straight males. In fact, history has proven that in my presence you could fling a dead cat into a crowd of thousands and still not hit a straight male.*
Tomorrow: Swallowing Conch
posted by Robin at 8:41 AM
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