Honeymoon in Jamaica part 5. You can never trust a fairy

Things at The Royal Plantation became more eventful as Poptart and I started making friends. Friends you say? Like with the Young Republicans? Hell no. Screw them. I’m talking about the staff. Poptart and I were so popular amongst the staff that they started leaving us presents in our room. We would come back from the beach to find chocolate covered strawberries with bottles of champagne. We would open our fridge to find even more champagne. It was awesome! Don’t think we didn’t repay the kindness though. It was kind of like having our own personal tooth fairies. But instead of leaving our teeth I would leave nuggets of kind bud as tokens of our appreciation. Leave a nugget and come back to the room later and cash in on the prizes. It wasn’t a bad deal.

Now I’m not sure if you know anything about fairies, but they generally don’t like to be seen and they don’t like to have their names known or spoken. So when we walked in and caught one in the act of leaving yet another bottle of champagne with desserts and flowers in our room you can imagine our surprise. Fairies are very clever and are impossible to catch. I have heard of maybe one or two instances where someone has actually seen a fairy let alone caught one, but it usually involves sugar water, crystals, and butterfly nets. I, however, had a giant Ziploc bag of kind green bud stashed behind the mini fridge. Which as I was about to find out, was one particular fairy’s weakness. His name was Delroy. He was young and had a huge smile. As we introduced ourselves to him he just sort of stood there for a bit.
“I think he wants a tip,” I told Poptart under my breath. The rules at The Royal Plantation state very clearly that you are not supposed to tip anyone. Ever. Because you already pay for all services up front.
“What should I give him?” Poptart said back as we stood there like two smiling statues.
“I don’t know, how about a tenspot.”
“Okay.” Poptart told Delroy to hang on a second as he went for his wallet.
“I c’yant take yer money, Mon,” Delroy told us.
“Well, how can we show our appreciation, then?” I asked.
“I… I heard you got some o’ da Marley bud,” Delroy said.
“I do. You want some?” I asked him.
“Oh yea Mon.”
And with that, Delroy’s big smile got even bigger. So I pulled out my pipe and grabbed my stash from behind the fridge. Great, now I have to find a new hiding spot. I proceeded to load a generous pipe load for Delroy as we all took a seat on our balcony. Naturally, I assumed that the North American “Puff, Puff, Pass” pot etiquette was a given and knew no cultural boundaries. Not with Delroy. He sucked on that pipe like a man on a respirator gasping for breath. I had never seen anyone inhale an entire bowl in one hit like that. When he was done, he exhaled an enormous green cloud of smoke, smiled his beautific smile, and handed me the pipe. So I loaded it up again and he smoked that one too. All I thought the entire time was pass the dutchie on the left hand side. But he never passed it. Greedy bastard. After pipe load number three, Delroy had had his fill and went back to work. After he left I looked at Poptart I said, “See, I told you, you can never trust a fairy.”

Later that night we decided to hotel hop again. Lucky for us, we got to share a shuttle with Chaz, his wife Muffy, and some of the other members of his new brotherhood. The inside of the shuttle was arranged so that the occupants all looked at one another for optimum comfort. Poptart and I kept to ourselves and tried to pretend we were invisible as the lovely Muffy gave me the once over. Her eyes glanced over my short skirt, low cut top, and stiletto heels and finally met my eyes with a look that screamed “Slut!” I met her gaze and smiled at her, as if to say “Frigid Troll.”

“We haven’t seen you two around much. There was another beach party last night and I noticed you weren’t there,” Chaz said, looking in our direction. Is he talking to us? Look buddy I already donated today. If you want something from me you’re going to have to go and talk to Delroy.
“Yeah. We were pretty sacked out from the Marley tour, so we ordered room service and watched the NBA finals,” Poptart told him.
“What? You got to watch the NBA finals?” Chaz choked, and shot his wife a slightly annoyed look that was hard to miss.
“Hell of a game,” Poptart continued. “Duncan almost put up a quadruple double.”
“Well it seems like such a shame to waste one of your nights watching basketball,” Muffy responded.
“No worries,” Poptart said. “We’ve got ten days. How long are you here for?”
This time it was Muffy that gave Chaz a dirty look as she muttered, “Six days.”
“What do you do for a living?” Chaz asked now completely curious.
“We’re bartenders,” Poptart told him. At this point Chaz just looked sick.
“You’re bartenders?”
“Yeah, we’re just really good at it.” I said as the bus pulled in to Groovy Heaven and I got up to exit. I needed to get away from Chaz and I needed to get away from him now. Chaz was seriously close to pushing my bitch button and I didn’t want to end up saying something to him I was going to regret later.

Poptart and I had a great time in Groovy Heaven and this time we even found an underground bar. It was dark and kind of seedy. It wasn’t full of people like the upstairs bars were and it played all reggae. We had a great time dancing and ended up also finding a little hidden Jerk shack on the beach. We ate Jerk chicken and then lay back in lawn chairs on the beach, smoked cigars and looked up at the stars. It was working out to be another perfect night.

We hopped the shuttle back to our hotel and ended up in the bar with Sibony for a nightcap. He taught us a popular Jamaican song that still sticks in my head today. It’s called Shame and Misery. It goes a little something like this.

I say woe, misery

Shame and scandal in da family

Woe, misery

Shame and scandal in da family.

Down in Trinidad dere was a family

Wit much confusion as you will see

A mama and a papa and a boy who was grown

He wanted to marry and have a wife of his own

He found a girl and she suited him nice

He went to his father to ask his advice

His father said: “Son, I have to say no,

Dat girl is your sister, but your mama don’t know”

Woe, misery

Shame and scandal in da family

I say woe, misery

Shame and scandal in da family

D’en a week went by and da summer came down

Soon da best girl on da island he found

He went to his papa to make it a date

His papa shook his head and to this he did say

“You can’t marry dat girl I have to say no

Cause dat girl is your sister, but your mama don’t know”

Woe, misery

Shame and scandal in da family

I say woe, misery

It’s shame and scandal in da family

He went to his mama, he covered his head

He told his mama what his father had said

His mother she laughed,

She said: “Go man, go

Your daddy ain’t your daddy, but your daddy don’t know”

Woe, misery

It’s shame and scandal in da family

Woe, misery

Shame and scandal in da family

I say oh, misery

Shame and scandal in da family

Before you knew it we were all singing at the top of our lungs. Poptart and I had met a wonderful man named Leonard who was sitting at the bar with us and we became instant friends. Leonard was in his late 60’s and was in Jamaica for his daughter’s wedding. Leonard fell in love with us and pretty mush adopted us on the spot.
“You have to come to my daughter’s wedding tomorrow,” he said.
“Are you serious?” I said.
“Yes! It is going to be so much fun and I want you two to be there!” he said.
“You’re on Leonard. There is no way we’re going to miss this,” Poptart told him. So Poptart and Leonard went back to Leonard’s suite to get us an invitation with the time and place and I hung out with Sibony and told him about the time I tried to kill him. Poptart and Leonard returned about 45 minutes later with invitation in hand and Poptart told me about how he had just met Leonard’s entire family. His wife and his three daughters, and that they all hugged him and welcomed him with open arms.
“This wedding is going to be great!” he told me. Well it was official, Poptart and I were now going to be wedding guests at a wedding for people we didn’t know, invited by a man we had just met, in a country we had never been in before. This kind of behavior was becoming a habit.

To be continued….

Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Send questions, comments, brownie recipes or random brainfarts to: mrsdiagnosed@yahoo.com

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