Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I need a vacation. Or I’ll eat people. Or I’ll be naked in the bell tower. Or I’ll take hostages at the local Dairy Queen. I’m serious.
I haven’t really had a vacation in 3 years. We’ve had a couple weekend getaways, but nothing where we’re just sitting on a beach, or a mountain, or even a crappy hotel room, doing nothing with nowhere to be and not even a hint of housework to be had.
I would blame Mr. Assassin. He HAD to go to Iraq. I HAD to use up all my vacation time taking care of kids. Now I’m surrounded by friends who tell me they are going away for Spring Break. My boss is even going to spend a week taking care of elephants.
I came home from work Monday night with a plan. “We,” I told Mr. Assassin, “are going on a family vacation the first week in June.” I’m talking a resort with white sand beaches in Florida. And yes, fruity cocktails made of vodka and an orange wedge will be permanently grafted to my hand.
I told him that we could spend every day sitting on the beach, doing nothing. I showed him websites I’d selected and even the audio book playlist I’d come up with for the drive down there.
Mr. Assassin nodded, when I was through and said, “Sounds great.”
Wait for it…
“But it can’t interfere with the kids’ camps and activities, can’t interfere with our work schedules, and we have to be able to afford it.”
My husband might “accidentally” have an “accident” in his sleep tonight. You’ll know, because my Facebook status will go from “married” to “going on vacation.”
The Assassin