2nd Honeymoon in Mexico. Part 3.

The drinking and jackhammering continued until Poptart and I couldn’t stand anymore of either one of them.
“We have to do something else. Anything else,” I told him as we lay on the beach, soaking up the sun.
“I know, but I don’t think I can move. I’ve been sitting here for so long I’ve become permanently glued to this beach chair,” he responded with a beer in one hand and a book in the other.
“We are so pathetic,” I said. “I would feel more guilty about it but I just can’t bring myself to expel that kind of energy right now.”
“I have an idea what we can do?”
“Oh what?” I was so excited. Finally we were going to do something besides sit there on the beach and wait to die.
“We should go and take a nap.”
“Ooohhhh, that sounds so good right now.” It was official; Poptart and I were going to die from muscular atrophy. On our way back up to the room we saw all the healthy in shape couples playing volleyball and we even saw some of them parasailing.
“What’s wrong with them?” I asked Poptart.
“I don’t think they know they’re on vacation,” he replied.
“Hey it’s Mr. Samba!” we heard from the volleyball court followed by a “Hi Mr. Samba!” As Poptart waved to his adoring fans he said, “You’re right, we do need to get out of here.”

After Poptart and I woke up from our nap we decided to get dressed up and go to the nice restaurant for dinner. It was time to turn this vacation up a notch. On our way down we decided to stop by the concierge desk and sign up for something. ANYTHING!
“Hey, this looks good,” he said as he pointed out a snorkeling brochure. “First they take you snorkeling and afterwards they take you to a private island where they feed you lunch.”
“Oh, that sounds nice. Let’s do that one!” I told him. We had been snorkeling in Hawaii already and got to swim with Sea Turtles and saw a school of dolphins so I was all for it. He signed us up for the tour for the next day. We were both patting ourselves on the back because we were finally going to give up our life of being slugs and move on to something more exotic.

The next morning we were up early with no hangovers and were ready to go. We made our way out to the van with the customary Mr. Samba greetings on our way down. We were so excited. The van took us to a large boat and as we boarded Poptart and I opted to sit in the back of the boat. This is where we met Brett. As the boat was traveling out to the site where we all were to jump in the water we learned a little bit about Brett. One: Brett was on vacation by himself. Two: Brett can’t swim. I don’t know about you but snorkeling might not have been the best excursion for Brett to sign up for. During our conversation with Brett our instructors and new best friends were making their way through the boat and introducing themselves to us. All of them seemed nice and professional except for one guy. Let’s call him Rico. Rico was a man whore. He was shorter than I was, but who isn’t. He had shoulder length hair and wore it completely slicked back. It didn’t matter what Rico said to you, as long as you were a woman you had the feeling he was somehow having sex with you.
“Here is your snorkel,” he said. But what he was really saying was, “I am having sex with you with my eyes.” Every time Rico talked to me or looked at me I just felt dirty. And I wasn’t special. He was like Mike Damone from Fast Times At Ridgemont High, “I mean don’t just walk in. You move across the room. And you don’t talk to her. You use your face. You use your body. You use everything. That’s what I do. I mean I just send out this vibe and I have personally found that women do respond. I mean, something happens.” And Rico was putting it out there. He was throwing the vibe to me; he was throwing the vibe to the hot chick sitting next to me. Hell even the 60 something year old woman got the vibe. He was putting it out there, and now he was hoping one of us would bite.

As the instructors finished passing out our equipment I was relieved that one of them said, “Is there anyone on board that is not a good swimmer?” And Brett raised his hand. Wait, he said not a GOOD swimmer. Not someone who can’t swim. At this point the instructor who asked the question gave Brett a life vest. Ummm, he’s probably going to need way more than that. But Brett took it and snapped it on. He was really going to go in the water. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Now I might have been a stoner and a social alcoholic, but I was also a really strong swimmer and former lifeguard.
“Just do me a favor and stay next to us,” I told Brett.
“Sure…okay,” he responded. I hadn’t even gotten into the water yet and I was already stressed out. Shouldn’t there have been a swim test or something?

The boat eventually docked next to a rock island and we were told that this was where we were going to go on our snorkeling adventure. So one by one we all climbed down the step-ladder and into the water. So there I was in the water with the Dream Team: Brett bobbing up and down like a cork with a totally frightened look in his eyes, and Poptart who is absolutely petrified of sharks. And not in a normal way, like sharks are scary and there is a very, very minute chance that one may bite me. No, Poptart’s thinking is along the lines of, “HOLY SHIT I’M IN THE WATER AND THERE ARE SHARKS IN THE WATER AND I’M GOING TO DIE, DIE, DIE!!!!!” Why did we do this?

Then the instructor in the water called for us to follow him closer to the rock island. As we began to follow him Brett just floated there in his jacket like shark bait.
“I’m kicking but I’m not going anywhere,” he said, as he just kept going in little circles. God, do you hate me?
*Sigh* “Just put your mask on and your snorkel in your mouth and lay on your stomach and I’ll tow you over,” I told him as I grabbed the top of his life jacket and began swimming over to the group. Once we got over to the group we all just floated around on the surface with our heads in the water waiting for fish that never came. The instructor told us we were going to move closer to the island by giving us hand signals under the water so we got closer to the island and we saw….nothing, except Poptart looking out into the nothingness waiting for the inevitable shark attack. Closer, the instructor beckoned again. So closer to the island we swam right up until the currents were knocking our bodies against the rocks.
“This is lame,” Poptart said as he popped his head out of the water.
“It really is, there are no fish down there,” I added. As we said this Brett took his head out of the water and decided to join in on the conversation.
“Aren’t we supposed to be seeing something?” he asked.
“I don’t know about you guys but I would rather be on the boat drinking a nice cold beer instead of out here looking for non existent fish,” Poptart said. Poptart had a point, this was getting down right ridiculous. That’s when the instructor motioned us to follow him inside a large alcove in the island. The water wasn’t even very clear and I was getting tired of scraping knees and elbows up against rocks. Beer it was.

So the three of us ditched the group and headed back to the boat. We were about three feet from the boat when I heard the first “Ouch!” out of Poptarts mouth.
“Ouch, what is that?” Brett added.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Damn it that hurts. Ouch! Stacy you don’t feel that?” Poptart asked me.
“No, what are you guys talking about?”
“Oh my God!” Brett exclaimed. At this point I thought maybe they were just screwing with me because I hadn’t felt a thing. And then it hit me on my right shoulder. It was a tiny sting but oh so painful.
“Ouch!” I yelled. “What is that? Ouch! Ouch!” They just kept coming. Before we knew it we were in a school of very tiny jellyfish. They were so small and cute but so painful at the same time. Bret or no Brett, it was every man for himself. The three of us swam so fast to the boat I’m pretty sure we must have broken some world records. All you could hear the whole way to the boat were ouches coupled by swear words even I hadn’t heard before. By the time we reached the boat we were throwing gear on board trying to get out of the water. Poptart forgot all about the sharks, he was now more scared of the tiny stinging jellyfish.

Once we were safely back on board the three of us grabbed a couple of beers and sat in the sun and just laid back and enjoyed the quiet. It didn’t take us long to hear the rest of the group come back because their arrival was announced with a series of ouches. Stupid tiny jellyfish.
Poptart squinted up at one of the newcomers. “Did you guys see anything?”
“No. Total waste. He swam us all over that island we saw a couple of ugly fish but nothing good. And then we got stung by jellyfish!”
“Beer’s in the cooler,” Poptart told him, settling back into the sun. But now the snorkeling was done. Thank God! And it was time to go to the private island they promised us so we could lie on a private beach and soak up paradise. Or not…

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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