This is something that I’ve grown very accustomed to within the last few years.
I am who I am because of my mother. My father. My brother. My sister. My friends.
And my mother’s friends.
Every year we try to do something called the G-U-I-L-T T-R-I-P.
Girls-Unashamedly-Indulging in-Lounging-Together-Time and-Relaxation-In-Palm Desert.
It’s our (and by our I mean the women on the trip) time to feel guilty about the jobs, husbands, kids, family, and friends we leave behind to escape to our little slice of paradise.. in the form of Palm Springs.
Now, I don’t have a husband. I don’t have my own family. And my job is at a local cafe. But I’m pretty important and I was missed. I think three people wondered where I was. They got over it, though.
This was the year that I realized how I am shaped by the company my mother keeps. I have the voices of democrats, republicans, nurses, mothers, immigrants, sisters, and wives softly resounding in my ears. I love and respect each one of them in their own ways and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Everyone has their place in this world. And this trip made that very evident.
During one of our lounging days by the pool, let’s say, Monday… we met a float-nazi. Forgive my liberal use of the word nazi. If I offend you, I apologize and will have you know I’ve considered converting to Judaism. I’m a worldly, culturally aware girl. Or I aspire to be one. Anyways. Float-Nazi comes along.
I named him Bob.
Bob–loves to read signs– and relayed to us that flotation devices are not allowed in this pool. (On his behalf, it does have a sign that says this, but I’M ON VACATION, BIATCH). There are, I don’t know… 10 of us floating (or clinging to floaters) in the pool at this time. Bob wants to lap swim. Bob is entitled to his lap swimming. Bob’s wife agrees with Bob and will back Bob on whatever he says. (Side story: Bob and “Sue” got into a yelling fight 2 days previous… greaaaaat dynamics). Bob begins to yell at us about how we need to obey the rules. We scoot to one side. He wants us on the other. We drift to the other. Sue disappears. Bob swims. The breaststroke. The widest, most space-consuming stroke known to swimmer-kind. Later, he will unashamedly kick two of our girls. Twice. On different sides of the pool.
Anyways. Bob isn’t through with us. He brings it up again: “You know, ladies, I don’t know if you guys just don’t obey the rules, or what, but it’s in English, we all read and speak English. It is clearly marked that there are no flotation devices.” Sue re-enters the pool area. Bob yells at one of our girls (unaffiliated with the GUILTy girls) and I didn’t stand for it.
“Please don’t yell at us, sir,” I said firmly.
“She was barking at me!” Bob retorts.
I look around at the women. “There was no BARKING going on, sir.”
There were more exchanges, but he was semi put in his place.
The funny thing is, nothing else happened on this day.
It was boring.
Except for this one event.
He became our source of entertainment.
“We cleared out of your way so you could do your doggy paddle?” was one of the girl’s comments.
And when I said to my mom, “I’m leaving you,” and started packing up, he says “It’s your choice.”
Excuuuuuuse me, Mister-Everything-Has-To-Be-About-Me, but I was NOT TALKING TO YOU.
He is still the talk of the town (a.k.a. The Women) and to him I owe a thanks.
I wonder why he didn’t come by for a swim the next day… and when he came today, he didn’t say anything about our floatie rafts.
Oh BTW (by the way) Sue had left to call security. We got officially kicked off our rafts. We were docile and obeyed the nice gentlemen who asked us politely.
I met him randomly later that day. We’re like BFFs and stuff… basically… almost.
Prom date #43.
Well, it’s the last night of Palm Desert villa lounging. I’m gonna go soak it up.
Tan-Girl in Like