Wednesday, January 22, 2014

The Penultimate Hours before the New Year

After paying, we decided to walk back anyway, which took us through the nature center, where we bought gifts for each other (a living pearl/make-your-own-necklace set for her, a butterfly garden for me) and discovered that the shuttle had taken some sort of wormhole route, as the walk was really not nearly as long as we had anticipated.

“This place is perfect,” she exclaimed.

“How so?”

“Everything is within walking distance. All behind security. You are totally isolated, and I haven’t seen a single security camera. Which makes sense; if you have celebrities staying here you don’t want any pictures. It’s all so self-contained. I LOVE this.”

“I've felt like I should steal something since I got here.”

“We totally should.”

I thought, in actuality that we had absconded with some small jars of jam that had been placed outside the door on some neglected breakfast tray, but we started thinking bigger, bolder, better.

“What now?”

“I think now we should go back to our room and experiment with some lavender confit.”

(I can happily confirm that the lavender confit, in fact, does taste amazing on everything. We even tried it with caviar.)

Later, we lay abed drinking wine, talking, and listening to music at each other, naked and enjoying the sunset. It was wild abandonment and girly indulgence and perfect that way. We laughed and giggled and danced about, taking pictures of each of other, of our foods, of any variety of things to document our experience.

“We should probably get ready to go for dinner.”

It was approaching nine, so we squeezed back into our undergarments, perfumes, and fineries. A short dress what little coat I had for me, a leopard print dress for her, and off we went again down the long winding road to the oceanside café.

We walked past the burning fire pits and the celebratory activities for New Year’s already underway. We ended up by a fire, chatting to an older stewardess who took our pictures and commiserated with us about life on the road before entering the restaurant.

Being who we are, we had nothing to do with the set-course menu.

We filled ourselves rather indulgently on sea bass, crab cakes, and a fresh bottle of wine, having managed to work our way through almost all the wine in our room during our repast.

Dinner may have been an uneventful eating orgy had it not been for the table next to us, where (as we could not helping listening, since everyone was speaking English) we overheard a couple fat-shaming their children.

“What do you think he does?” the Artist asked me of the douche father, who was both chastising his sons for being fat and explaining that they had to eat desert, because you don’t often come to places like this.

“Some form of advanced doucheholery, I suspect,” was my response.

The Artist turned around to the father. “Excuse me, what do you do?”

“I’m a stokebroker.”

“Nailed it!”

Both of us girls went off, in rare form. We tore into the stockbroker on a level he couldn't comprehend, delivering triple entendre’s that were as insulting as humanly possible while seeming overly polite. Or rather, I watched the Artist do it, because that was an advanced level of Southern I had not mastered. The backhanded evil southern where one can outright insult someone as long as you added “Bless her heart,” to the end. “I can’t believe you thought it was okay to wear that dress, bless your heart.” Etc. I couldn't do southern insults at the master level, so I let her work.

Eventually we chased off the stockbroker and his wife, leaving us alone.

The staff brought us noisemakers at eleven o'clock, but they made no noise.

“No matter how I blow it, it’s silent.”

“That was probably smart. Can you imagine us with noisemakers right now?”

We giggled. Then it was decided that we would, in fact, steal something.

Off the stockbroker’s table.

We laughed and giggled back to our room, amused with ourselves, disrobing and climbing into bed just before midnight, where we sat and sipped champagne until the hours were up. Kissing, tired, and exhausted, we passed out cold until well after sunrise in the New Year.


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