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Broke Wife, Big City
What I Did On
My Summer Vacation
By Aprill Brandon
We didn’t really have the money. Or it might be more accurate to say we
had the money but we knew we should probably save it like real
grown-ups do to put toward buying a house, or purchasing bookshelves
that aren’t held together with duct tape or funneling it into an
account to pay for our toddler son’s future therapy bills.
But instead, we said screw it and blew it all on a spur-of-the-moment
beach vacation.
And here’s why:
It was growing dark on our first night in a little beach town in Maine.
Walking through the quaint downtown, we saw a fudge shop and since
calories don’t exist on vacation, we decided to buy an obscene amount
to counteract the obscene amounts of deep fried things we had just got
done eating.
The friendly teenage boy working the counter gave us samples to try and
made small talk and made faces at our toddler and it was all very
Norman Rockwell-esque until I ruined it all.
“How do you resist the temptation to eat fudge all the time?” I asked
him.
“Who says I resist it?” he replied.
Hahaha. We laughed. He laughed. Even Riker laughed. And then cue
awkward moment in 3…2…1…
“Well, you look REALLY good.”
…crickets chirping…tumbleweed rolls by…
“Yeah. Well, here’s your fudge.”
As we awkwardly left the store and headed back to our hotel, I turned
to my husband.
“Did that sound…?”
“Oh yeah.”
“But I just meant he’s in good shape.”
“Sure.”
“I mean, that I would weigh 400 pounds if I worked there.”
“Oh, I knew what you meant. I just don’t think he did.”
“So it sounded…”
“Yup.”
“So, to sum up, it appears like a creepy woman in her 30’s just hit on
a teenage boy in front of not only her husband but also her son.”
“Yup.”
Long pause…
“So…does this make me a cougar?”
And then we burst out laughing again. Even Riker (although I suspect
his laughter had something to do with the epic poop we would soon find
out he was busy taking in his Little Swimmers).
That right there. That story. That’s why we dipped our tired and grubby
little paws into our savings account and splurged on a three-day trip
to Maine. Because I can guarantee that THAT story will eventually
become family lore. The vacation photos that everyone points to and
says “Wasn’t that the trip where Mom hit on a poor kid that she could
practically breastfeed?” And everyone will laugh. Even me, once I’m
done whacking everyone in the back of the head.
Because that’s what families are; a series of stories all lived
together and then told and retold and embellished (“No, I was not
massaging his chest when I said it!”). And for far too many months, the
plot of all our family’s stories contained work, dinner, Netflix on the
couch while doing more work, repeat and too little else.
Study after study has been released lately on the recent American
tendency to avoid taking vacation days, or if they are used, it’s for a
“staycation” where you do all the boring things you don’t have time to
do when you’re busy doing all the other boring things you need to do.
This is due to a lot of reasons but a good chunk, I’m assuming, is
because people are so overworked they can’t afford to miss any work
and, as in our case, a lack of funds to even afford a proper vacation.
And sitting here typing this, I can already name two dozen other things
that that money probably should have been used for instead.
But I don’t feel guilty. Not even slightly. Even if the rent check will
be a little late this month.
Because, sure, we have nothing tangible to show for all the money we
spent other than all the sand we dragged home that will remain in our
house until the day we die and seven extra pounds each and that white
touristy sweatshirt I bought that Riker promptly got mac and cheese
stains all over. But that story and those memories and that
mental image of the relaxed smile my husband gave me (the first relaxed
smile I had seen in quite awhile) as we clinked our beers together in
some beachside dive will last much longer than new bookshelves.
Plus, Riker can just pay for his own therapy. I mean, that’s what
allowances are for, right?
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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