Languid Mess

Well, not so much a mess. In fact, maybe the opposite of mess.  But languid for certain. It is the perfect word for the lazy, molasses existence we have just slipped into.  Two slow mornings, easy lunches, wandering walks to the beach, un-harried bedtimes with our small people.

We are island people in our hearts.

The mess is, of course, all inside my head, where I wrassle and wrangle with the lunacy of holidays, and particularly hot, tropical holidays in villas with pools and food and beaches and a towel guy who just hands over unlimited towels.  And then takes them back. Sandy and damp and toddlered.  It's like a towel miracle every day.

But you know, I'm on holiday, so I'm not even going to indulge my crazy.  Sure I look just like all the other fat, rich, happy people wandering the beaches with their beautiful, well-behaved, athletic children. But in my heart, I know the truth.  I just don't want to live in the truth this week.  I want to live all the way in this Fantasy Land where we don't think twice about it - drinks at the beach bar? Sure! An extra sunhat? Why not!? We are those people this week damnit.

I can feel shitty about it when we get home.  Right now, mama needs a latte...