I’m lying on a beach, lazily sweeping my toes in slow circular motions creating funky little figure eights in the whitest sand I’ve ever seen.

The sun is hot but the cool breezes off of the crystalline blue and green waters sweep toward me making the air very comfortable, very salty and very inviting.

I lay deeper into my cushioned lounger and lift the brim of my floppy hat, the signal to my personal cabana boy that I am ready for my mai-tai.

In less than a minute, my bronzed, severely toned, handsome and more importantly, totally devoted cabana boy offers a tall frosted pink glass with luscious looking pineapple, kiwi and strawberries skewered to a brightly colored little umbrella. As he leans closer, I become aware of his scent – a hint of cinnamon and spice.

He offers my drink on a silver platter and I notice that he’s also put together a plate of the aforementioned fruits and chocolates.

(Okay, remember, this is a dream and chocolate doesn’t melt anywhere but in your mouth!)

The essence of the chocolates mixed with that of the various berries strewn all about the plate is enough to emit the tiniest giggle as I partake in pleasing all of my senses.

I thank my cabana boy as he reaches for my perfectly manicured hand and grazes it with his plump, moist lips.

He lifts his long dark lashes revealing his beautiful eyes the color of somewhere in between the milk and dark chocolate I am nibbling on,looks deeply and very seductively into my eyes and asks in a slightly Mediterranean accented voice, “Is there anything else I could possibly do to please madam?”

I take a long drag from the very long straw of my mai-tai and savor the simultaneous coldness and slight burn of it rolling down my throat before I answer.

He patiently waits and the menacing little grin never leaves his beautiful face.

I take my hand and lace my fingers into his dark and wavy hair, the length of which would reach slightly beyond the collar of his shirt...if he were wearing one.

My hand finds its way down to his shoulder and I trace across his slightly hairy chest to the opposite shoulder and imagine the show of strength they could produce.

He gently and “effortlessly” lifts me up off my lounger and the next breeze takes with it the hat I was wearing, leaving my expertly cut and beautifully colored hair free and full.

He unties my brightly colored sarong and it gently sweeps away from my body, revealing my strapless French bikini...size 2.

I wrap my bronzed arms around his neck as he takes me to the reaches of the cresting waves, crashing all around us aaaaaaand...

SWOOSH!

Glen throws the bucket of bathwater into my face, bringing me back to reality and screams, “It was an accident!”

From somewhere in the freshly pre-Thanksgiving cleaned house I hear, “Eeeewww, the baby’s puking again! And she’s doing it on the couch. She already got the rug. I think the cat puked in the dining room too!”

I stand up in my now totally drenched bathroom, step over the pile of throw-up covered clothes and begin to take off my throw-up covered t-shirt to add to the pile.

I walk into the hallway, step over the cat puke and bypass the throw-up covered car seat and grab my throw-up covered baby off of the couch that is now covered with…you guessed it...throw-up.

I head back to the bathroom…erm…I lazily sweep my toes through the sand…

- posted by Liz @ 11/17/2003 02:05:00 PM

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