Children, you may be wondering where I've been for the last month or so. What I'm about to say may scandalize you, but you are old enough to hear about what grown ups really do on vacation. Plus there's a sweet video of me in action at the end, so stay awake.
Anyone can read "Fifty Shades of Grey" at the beach. And I tried, but Anastasia and Christian were not cutting it for me. Instead, I spent half of my hiatus on a windy Hilton Head Island beach reading a batty dead movie star's memoirs. I got some life tips from Katharine Hepburn's autobiography "Me." The book taught me three things:
1) Always wear smart trouser pants. Especially on the beach.
2) Call Cary Grant* "chubby" as long as you mean it in a nice way. *(for kids in the audience, Cary Grant is the 1.0 version of George Clooney.)
3) Never dwell on the past, unless you are dwelling on Cary Grant's pant size, and then that's fine.
Also, take up golf, because you might meet an eccentric millionaire. Aviator Howard Hughes landed his helicopter on a golf course and ripped up the turf. This made Hepburn, who was there golfing with her fat friend, think Hughes was an ass. Then, he sweet talked her over dinner one night. They were playing "The Bachelor" before it was cool and then cool in an ironic way. And then just sad.
Speaking of reckless behavior, I spent the other half of my hiatus drunk -- just not in a bar or even a secluded ocean cabana. On a Saturday afternoon in a nail salon, I sat back in the massage chair and my pedicurist asked if I wanted a drink. I said no thanks, I'm not going to pay $5 for cranberry juice. Then she said it came with the service. It was free.
Yes, I'll have one Margarita please.
My new friend brought me a cold Margarita in a real glass with a real lime and real salt around the rim. I took small sips at first and could barely taste the tequila. Then I picked up the pace. My brain warmed up like a fresh yeast roll in the oven. My sister told me I was buzzed, but I didn't believe her. I was too busy trying to figure out how to work the remote control on my massage chair. Did I want to be flapped, kneaded, or knocked?
Then, a random 6-year-old ran across the room, wearing the coolest sunglasses I had ever seen.
"I love this chair; I like that kid," I said to my sister while pointing at said kid, as if we were on "The Voice" and I was putting dibs on this fresh young talent. I was Cee Lo Green, my sister was Christina Aguilera. I was cooler (and thinner) than her in my own mind.
There you have it, kids. Grown ups on vacation read books about deceased movie stars, get wasted while getting our nails done, and yak about stuff we have no right even thinking about. You have a lot to look forward to, especially self-delusion.
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