I need a vacation

So far this year, I have experienced the following:

- an overflowing toilet that led to a 4-week home repair.

- a mysterious medical issue that has resulted in visits to eight different doctors, an operation, a plethora of unpleasant tests and medical bills piled to the ceiling.

- uncertainty at work brought about a couple of weeks ago when we learned that upper management was bringing in consultants who were looking at “cost containment issues” by discussing ways to “maximize efficiencies” resulting in a more streamlined “target organization.” In other words, don’t buy any green bananas.

On top of that, my house needs a new roof, the dryer is squeaking, the upstairs shower isn’t working and I’ve been letting my 15-year-old son drive the car. If anybody has a Valium stockpile they’d like to unload, call me. And you thought Jon and Kate had problems!

In other words, I am ready for a vacation. How’s this for irony – this week my daughter went to Disney World with a friend, and next week my son is going to the beach with one of his friends. Meanwhile, mom and dad – the ones who actually have jobs and make money - are stuck at home. We need better friends.

In some ways, I like to follow my father’s lead when it comes to being on vacation. He would get into the hotel room, park himself in front of the TV, strip down to a T-shirt and boxer shorts and eat like a feral hog.

This is why I’m generally against the idea of taking non-family members with us on vacation. If they do go, they need to understand that they will see me in my boxer shorts, covered in Doritos dust and belching like a volcano. Perhaps I should have them sign a waiver.

My dad also always took a pair of binoculars to the beach. I thought this was odd, but he would tell me that he liked to sit on the hotel balcony and look at the ships as they passed by. He seemed to always have them trained on the beach, though. Finally I hit puberty and understood why he brought them. Way to go, dad!

We took a yearly vacation to Panama City Beach in Florida. My dad didn’t believe in making reservations before we went, so we would ride up and down the strip looking for vacancy signs. Then the hotel and the hotel room had to pass my mom’s inspection, so it could be a harrowing few hours before we finally found a place to stay. Bless their souls for saving the money and taking me on vacation, but I do not recommend their methods.

These days, we like to go down to the Gulf Coast of Florida or Alabama, to places like Perdido Key or Orange Beach. The beaches are nice and not nearly as crowded as Panama City, though you do have fewer options if you decide to go get a tattoo or an air-brushed T-shirt. And you don’t see as many big girls in tiny rebel-flag bikinis.

I don’t know if I’ll get to go anywhere this year or not. We are planning to go to Disney World in November, Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise, but that’s not a very restful trip. I need a good week of sleeping late, eating doughnuts and looking for ships through my binoculars.

And if anybody wants to invite me along, I’ll even buy some new boxer shorts.