I really don’t love the pool scene. Though I feel constantly cold in the winter, I tire quickly of being overheated as well. I get bored just sitting. As I stare out over the shoulder-to-shoulder partially reclined lounges snaking around every inch of the pool perimeter, I feel like a sardine. A warm sardine mind you which is better than a frozen one I suppose.
I’m not a tanner either. A far cry from the frenzy of my Hawaiian Tropic tanorexic youth which drove me to use baby oil mixed with iodine and to lay on tin foil on top of the dog house (it got me 2 extra feet closer to the sun.)
Where is all this leading? It’s time for a poolside cocktail.
It’s mid day in the high desert and I’m on a mini vacation. Very mini. Micro actually. I’m easily tempted by things called ‘Kokopelli’s Cabana Colada’ (though I don’t prefer the ‘Pina’ variety). They leave me ever hopeful the server will also come armed with palm fronds, and grapes to feed me. Even if it doesn’t come with anything other than a plastic cup and straw, the microsecond of imagining something other than my burgeoning email inbox needing attention is worth it.