There's No Place Like ... where am i?
Not the most relaxing of vacations, and I think I may have to nip off to Betty Ford for some post-holiday detox, but my my my, what a good holiday.
I could regale you with stories of ...
* finding ourselves amidst a pre-Atlantis Cruise party on night #1 in Barcelona
* Peruvian tour guides who fancy graying Americans
* beautiful men everywhere in Sitges
* sunrises on the beach
* the forced march home from the "beach" party
* amazing meals
* the demise of brass bands in England (and several other "where did that come from?" stories from my new best friend Dumbledore)
* decidedly non-British generous freepours of vodka (memo to pubs: ban the measured shot glass)
* Marco the bar manager/stripper/drug-dealer/purveyor-of-live-sex-shows-with-hot-Brazilian-
artisteshookers ("I'm just a young businessman ... ")
... and so much more. Yes, I could regale you with all of the above, but instead, let me share this vison of loveliness before I dive back into the heap of work I've returned to.
We were walking along the beach one afternoon, admiring the locals and the tourists alike. Kids frolicking in the surf, young couples playing paddle ball, all kinds of flesh basking in the afternoon sun. I noticed one rather large women, sitting topless, cross-legged on the beach. Enormous breasts, sagging to her protruding belly, staring down to what I thought were her knees.
Hmm, I think to myself, good on her. I should go back to my towel, sit up straight and join her (spiritually at least) in some quality meditation.
Then I see her reach down to her inner thigh, just about at her bikini line, with a pair of tweezers and *pluck*. Right there on the beach in front of god (and many bronzed gods) and everyone.
I'm all for personal grooming, but for the love of Nair, some things are better left to the privacy of one's own baņo.
:: :: ::
PS, the camera died about halfway through, so i don't know what kind of pictures I ended up with. Hopefully there'll be something visual to share.