I know you’re feeling bad for us, but Kim and I were forced to spend the last week on St. Lucia. It’s a hideous little Caribbean Isle tucked into the British Virgin Islands. As you can see from the photograph, it’s a dreadful little place where you’re openly encouraged to frolic with something the locals call “wild abandon”. We were resistant at first, but ultimately believed that for our own safety it was best to just go along and try to blend in as best we could until we could secure passage out of this sandbox.
We were forced to endure countless activities of a touristy nature. We were even coerced into some sort of a communal bathing facility with a swim-up bar where we were mandated to imbibe strange beverages with small decorative umbrellas.
Fortunately we’re safely home now, or at least we should be. Since I’m writing this prior to our departure, it’s hard to be sure. In the unlikely event that we didn’t make it home, please send a rescue party or at least an infusion of cash and a fresh pair of flip-flops.
With luck, the batteries are now fully recharged and we can resume our previous lives already in progress. But for the next little while, if either of us should appear a little mentally fuzzy or have some far away look in our eyes, please be sensitive to the realities of post-vacation stress disorder. It’s not that we don’t want to be back here with all of you, but… well… yes it is.