I joked about it in my last post, but yesterday this dude:
…proved that he was more than capable of knocking down a human and sending them into a backward somersault. That someone may have also become separated from their glasses and hearing aid, but I’ll not name that person to spare them further embarrassment.
So we left off with the Houston saga… and what cracked me up is how many Texas readers offered to haul over and keep us company or put us up for the night! I have the best blog friends, truly.
Starting at the beginning; my travel expert dad found this unbeatable deal to an incredible place.
(Since my dad refuses to allow me to show his face…. here’s a shot with him and Itty Bit with his lovely “underwears” showing)
and here’s a shot of the incredible resort:
When we found out that Mr. Daddy’s treatment was supposed to start while we were attempting to darken our pasty Northwest hides in Mexico; the doctor said, “don’t postpone your vacation”.
(I could have kissed him. Except well, he probably would have liked that about as much as the surgeon liked my hug).
So we readied ourselves to jet to Acapulco.
First came mother/daughter pedicures that left me with tears in my eyes. My mother remarked that I had been exfoliated for a lifetime.
Then came a frantic 30-pound-weight-loss program.
(When you buy an elliptical machine that says “some assembly required”… DO NOT BE FOOLED. It will take you FOUR hours to open forty-seven boxes and sort the fasteners that your tyke helpfully dumped into a pile. And grease? GREASE in my living room?!?)
(Another clue: when your house looks WORSE than Christmas morning, that is not “SOME assembly required”. Just sayin'…)
Not surprisingly, I was still pegged as the 30-pound-overweight pasty woman from the Northwest… I have no idea what clued them in that I wasn’t a local?
(For the blog record, Mom claimed we’d be fine for a half hour early morning run on the beach. Except that it was longer than a half hour. I am still peeling from the beautiful lobster result. Mr. Daddy points and yells “UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN!” every time he sees my shoulders.)
Backing up a bit further… before we left, Itty Bit helpfully decided to pack his own bag. Then got awfully secretive about it. This is what I found when I unzipped it:
Holy Legos Batman. The entire box. And dutifully strapped in.
Apparently socks and underwears are highly overrated.
The beauty of having a “I can do it myself” kid, is that he hauled that sucker by himself like a little pro.
The weird part for me is that I keep thinking that’s myself in the picture with him. Until I see those crazy butt toner shoes my mom is gonna thank me for warning her about someday…
We took a red-eye flight to Houston. And it was instant wackiness.
(Someone come up with a good punchline for this, please?)
And then cause for instant screaming in the WOMEN’S room. Apparently y’all weren’t kidding about things being bigger in Texas.
(My mom changed out of the butt toner spine mess up thingies, and was the only one brave enough to pose next to this monster).
My dad is not a short guy. But I think I annoyed him on the connecting flight by repeatedly calling him The Hobbit every time he stood up.
(and now you see why the kids at school shut up when I said that MY dad could beat up their dad).
We landed in Mexico City and were treated to conflicting directions from four different airport employees. Forcing us to go through security again just for fun. YIPPEE!
We got the weirdest welcome to Mexico there, though…
(How did I get so ninja-ish that I take pictures of broken toilet paper holders in foreign countries? It’s a sickness I tell you.)
The only thing weird about the last flight was that crazy in-flight catalog.
Does anyone else think that squiggly little logo looks a little risque for tennis shoes??
Seriously, what is that supposed to be?
Now that’s just wrong.
Now, y’all might have gotten this far and wondered what on earth we were doing traveling to Mexico? Isn’t there a State Department travel alert out for the area..?
We researched and researched it all. We read nearly 800 accounts of people who had been to this exact place. We hired a driver beforehand and planned to stay in the safest areas.
When it could be researched no more, Mr. Daddy’s doctor told us to go.
We stepped out of our yard full of snow and into some sandy sunshine.
And right smack into a True Story Tuesday that will haunt me for the rest of my everloving public humiliation life.
Stay tuned for Part III