Read Online The Thong Also Rises by Jennifer L. Leo - Free Book Online Page B

villagers in Third World countries, but I am willing to give up mascara for a week. I have also radically redeemed my pack-aholic ways of battering airport baggage scales with bulging suitcases closed only by application of ample butt pressure.The daredevil in me trusts I will survive our next vacation, a Windjammer Caribbean cruise, on only the barest of fashion essentials. Goodbye evening-wear, daywear, and five-extra-outfits-just-in-case wear—I’m now a one flip-flop pair, low-maintenance kind of gal!
    Windjammers proudly proclaim to be the anti-cruise cruise ships.They eschew the frivolities of luxury liners, with their chichi cappuccino bars and tuxedoed attendants. Aye, instead prospective travelers are hooked by a pirate-like, devil-may-care voyage upon small, historically renovated ships decked in teak and sailcloth. Passengers are invited to help hoist sails, sleep on deck underneath the stars, or drinkdinner away without ever slipping on the family jewels, or even a pair of shoes.
    The glossy brochure guarantees that this is the trip for me:
    Windjammer shipmates are a motley crew of interesting folks from all over the United States and abroad. You won’t know if the guy or gal sitting next to you is the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, or an Average Joe.
    Well, O.K., even though this description encompasses everyone in the free world who can shell out the price of a ticket, I’m convinced I am one of those interesting, motley folks willing to forfeit plump pillows and Pérnod in favor of a genuine seafaring adventure. Yo ho ho!
    I admit, however, I cannot conceal my trepidation concerning our bedroom quarters, particularly when we booked late and were issued what the brochure describes as a below-deck “Standard Cabin.” I scan the description, believing I can make do without the in-room coffee maker, but am downright bewildered to learn the only accommodations worthy of mention are “upper and wider lower berths, private head and shower.”
    I can do this. I am The Adventurer.
    To demonstrate my newfound flexibility, I assure my husband—who annoyingly doesn’t seem to need any assurance—that our bunk beds are really a clever convenience—why, we can use the upper berth for extra storage space! From the particular angle in the brochure picture, the lower bunk appears wide enough for both of us. Maybe not like queen size-with-goose-down-filled-comforter wide, but surely large enough to accommodate late night snuggles.
    It will be romantic—I am fairly certain.
    We are greeted at a small pier in Saint Maarten by the cutest little launch boat that sputters us across the bay to meet the S. V. Polynesia. The 248-foot schooner stands regally against the blue velvet of evening sea. The weather is warm, balmy, and luxurious. To my surprise, I temporarily forget the havoc the humidity will wreak upon my hair. Instead, I whip out my brightest bandana and tie it over my head, handkerchief style, like the fashionistas I had spied upon in South Beach. I silently congratulate myself on copying this chic, but oh so casual, just-protect-me-from-the-wind style for my New Adventure Look.
    The bed is smaller than I thought.
    As promised, the bottom berth protrudes farther out than the top—but only by mere inches and I’m not sure what the architects had it in mind in offering this up. While the lower birth might more readily accommodate an obese person, or even a horizontal sexual act, I am certain it was never intended to sleep two adults, unless I imagine, those adults happened to be two medium-sized midgets who don’t mind spooning.
    â€œI get the top bunk!” my husband cries excitedly.
    He is triumphant. As a boy growing up in a small apartment, his older brother always got the top bunk. Now, several decades and thinned hairs later, he feels avenged and is grinning with smug satisfaction.
    Still, I am resolute, flexible, and flowing. Until I see the