I'm not coping very well on this holiday and I'm starting to think I'm luxury illiterate. I have painful earache from diving into the med too many times off their speedboat. My skin has come out in a very uncomfortable rash from the heady cocktail of 12 hours of daily sunshine and factor 50. Even on days I don't see the beach, about a spadeful of sand falls out of my bra when I get undressed.
Today I didn't realise that you're meant to suck the brains out of those big prawn things and they laughed at me. Really? But it tastes so strong. Yes, so does caviar, I imagine someone might have commented, if they could speak my language. I don't think I should be allowed to leave the apartment.
In return for all the glam I am trying to be the perfect guest. I am enthusiastic (often genuinely) about playing with the children. I didn't even complain when Javier hit me today. I overcame my small town sensibilities to teach them the lyrics to 'Blow my whistle, baby', on request. It felt wrong but it was better than hearing them mumble.
I don't wear any breasty clothes infront of the Dads, and I complain with the Mums about the Dads as best I can. Raised eyebrows and pursed lips are international.
I don't swim against the tide of breakfast times anymore- today I ate my breakfast churros and chocolate milk at 12.30pm. And because that wasn't filling enough, I added some whole wedges of cake to soak up the last of the milk.
I even let the top middle of my back burn so no one is burdened with having to apply my suncream.
I think you would agree that I am a pretty good guest. Possibly the hardest thing is pretending not to choke on their salads. I asked what the Spanish word for salty is today and a stray Dad told me it was salada. "You can remember it as it sounds like salad, and we put a lot of salt in our salads". Don't I know it! I shall pretend that's what got in my eye today not the salty sting of homesickness.
Today I didn't realise that you're meant to suck the brains out of those big prawn things and they laughed at me. Really? But it tastes so strong. Yes, so does caviar, I imagine someone might have commented, if they could speak my language. I don't think I should be allowed to leave the apartment.
In return for all the glam I am trying to be the perfect guest. I am enthusiastic (often genuinely) about playing with the children. I didn't even complain when Javier hit me today. I overcame my small town sensibilities to teach them the lyrics to 'Blow my whistle, baby', on request. It felt wrong but it was better than hearing them mumble.I don't wear any breasty clothes infront of the Dads, and I complain with the Mums about the Dads as best I can. Raised eyebrows and pursed lips are international.
I don't swim against the tide of breakfast times anymore- today I ate my breakfast churros and chocolate milk at 12.30pm. And because that wasn't filling enough, I added some whole wedges of cake to soak up the last of the milk.
I even let the top middle of my back burn so no one is burdened with having to apply my suncream.
I think you would agree that I am a pretty good guest. Possibly the hardest thing is pretending not to choke on their salads. I asked what the Spanish word for salty is today and a stray Dad told me it was salada. "You can remember it as it sounds like salad, and we put a lot of salt in our salads". Don't I know it! I shall pretend that's what got in my eye today not the salty sting of homesickness.
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