Fact: Cabana Boys Are the Worst.

D965B4126CEB581DAB162ED8CBBABeing on holiday is great. Being on holiday at the beach for a week is WONDERFUL. I mean, my biggest task each day is taking the elevator down 11 floors and then walking the 2.5 minutes to my lounging area by the water.

My plan for time on the beach is three-fold: Read, Nap, Repeat.

This plan does not allow for too much small talk, and my family has known and respected this for years. It’s just how it is. So there I was yesterday, completely engrossed in chapter 5 of Kelly Oxford’s latestΒ and generally loving life when a blonde-Justin-Bieber-on-Baywatch type crouched down about three seashells away from my face. THREE.

CB: Everything alright over here? (hair swoosh)

Me: Um yes, thanks.

CB: (to Cathy, my mother) How about you, ma’am?

Cathy: Oh I’m sorry, I’ve got my nose so deep in this Barbara Streisand biography I didn’t see you there!

Me: Well he did just appear out of nowhere.

CB: That’s my job!

Cathy: I bet this is a nice job, being on the beach all day and meeting new people.

CB: Well, it has its’ problems. Trust me. (winks at me)

Me: Too much sun?

CB: I’ll let you in on a little secret…

Me: I’m on the edge of my chair.

CB: This gig is physically and emotionally draining. It’s tough.

Me: Right.

CB: Yeah, a buddy of mine quit last week because it was just too much for him, emotionally. It beat him down. I had to ask the head guy to lighten my load the other day because I’m only one guy, right?

Me: What?

Cathy: Oh honey, here’s a $5.

XOXO,

B

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