Tuesday, August 14, 2012

312. Cup Sizes

"So, which pool is it going to be?" Cayden asked as we surveyed the third and final pool. It was the exclusive pool, which was adults-only, and Cayden and I had exclusive wristbands to grant us access.  

"Where is everybody?" I asked as I shifted my beach bag to my other shoulder. I'd assumed the exclusive pool would be full of people my age, sipping margaritas and organizing off-site adventures. Instead what we found was a middle-aged couple reading separate Kindles under giant sunhats and three 30-something women face-down and passed out in their lounge chairs, probably recovering from the previous night's festivities.

The first pool--the activities pool--had a volleyball net and Spanish music played through the surrounding speakers. It would have been perfect if not for the handful of toddlers and pre-teens I spotted having a splashing contest at one end of the pool. Getting waterlogged by a bunch of little shits wearing braces was the last thing I wanted to do on my honeymoon. And if they got pool water in my pina colada, I couldn't guarantee anyone's safety.

The second pool we surveyed was the relaxation pool. No music. No hyperactive children. No obnoxious teenagers binge drinking and flashing their boobs like it's spring break in Cancun. Just a swim-up bar and the sound of the nearby ocean for entertainment. 

"Let's go back to the relaxation pool," I suggested. "I thought I saw a few people our age over there. Could be fun."

It was only 10:30 a.m., so I shouldn't have been that surprised that people weren't already at the pool with a drink in hand. We'd woken up earlier than expected, and we'd already enjoyed (some sexy time and) a huge breakfast of eggs, sausage, french toast and fresh fruit from the buffet, which we ate on the restaurant's wrap-around patio overlooking the crystal blue water. 

Thick, gray clouds rolled in as Cayden and I threw our towels down on two blue lounge chairs at one end of the relaxation pool. We looked at the sky and then at each other and laughed. With our luck, it would rain non-stop for the next seven days. Neither of us was phased. It could have rained all day and all night and I would have been perfectly happy to spend the next week locked up in a hotel room with Cayden and 24-7 room service. 

"You seriously look amazing," Cayden said, eyeing me up and down as I rubbed suntan lotion on my arms and chest. I still felt half-naked in my new swim suit, but I also felt half awesome. 

"Thanks, baby," I said, trying not to blush. "So do you."

"Me? No. Not until I get a tan."

OK, so he was a little pasty. He had that "London summer glow."

The pool water was cool and refreshing, albeit at an awkward depth. The entire pool was barely four feet deep, just low enough to expose your entire stomach and chest, and just high enough to drown you if you tried to sit down. We squatted down onto our knees and waded over to the swim up bar with our plastic double-insulated cups.

"Two frozen margaritas, por favor."

"Where did you get those?" the brunette girl next to me asked, pointing at our cups. She seemed to be about my age with giant green eyes and a chest only money could buy. I looked down at my slightly shrunken boobs and sighed. As much as I loved losing weight, I hated that it came at the expense of my once full boobs. But then I remembered my margarita cups were bigger than hers and I smiled. More boobs for her, more margaritas for me. 

"Brought them with us," I said. "I read on Sabor's Facebook page that you should bring your own giant cups or you get stuck with the tiny ones, which means you have to keep going back for more. Good for business. Bad for my buzz," I said. 

"That's genius! I wish we'd known about that." She turned to her friends who were propped up in lounge chair next to the bar. "Hey! We need to go get giant cups like theirs. Chandler, why didn't we think to bring giant cups?"

A guy in a lounge chair with a shaved head and sunglasses, who I assumed to be Chandler, looked disapprovingly at his small cup of melted margarita and shrugged. The hipster-looking guy next to him with a swoop of sand-colored hair peeking out from under his fedora hat gave his cup the same defeated look, and the thin, leggy, beautiful model-type next to him seemed to be too engrossed in whatever she was reading on her Kindle to notice her cup was sub par. 

The brunette turned back to us and lifted her cup by way of greeting. "I'm Courtney, by the way. Where are y'all from?"

I couldn't quite place her accent. It was southern, but I got the impression that it wasn't Texan. 

"I'm from Dallas and he's from London," I said, suddenly realizing yet again that there was no easy to to explain what we were doing there without going into the details. 

"From London???" she exclaimed. "Oh, let me hear your accent!"

Cayden laughed. He was used to this. 

"What do you want me to say?"

"Ah, Vicky, are you hearing this?" Courtney called out to the leggy model. "He has a British accent!"

There's really no better icebreaker. 

Three hours and 8-10 drinks later, we were all best friends. Oh, we were also shitfaced. I wasn't sure if it was the copious amounts of alcohol or our gregarious personalities, but we all clicked. I couldn't even hate Courtney for her gorgeous green eyes or perfect rack because she was downright hilarious. And while Vicky may have looked like a runway model with her tousled beach hair and never-ending legs, she definitely didn't have the dry personality or inflated ego to match. She was a sweetheart with an adorable Louisiana accent and an air of innocence about her. The hipster boy, David, actually wasn't a hipster at all and had a weird obsession with dragons. They all lived in Monroe, Louisiana, and they were in Cozumel celebrating Chandler and Courtney's one-year wedding anniversary. 

When we told them we were on our honeymoon, they cheered and congratulated us, and then confusion washed over their drunken faces.

"Wait..." Courtney said. "I thought you said he lived in London and you live in Texas. Are you married and living in separate countries?" She was looking at me like I was insane. 

"Not exactly..."

Cayden and I took turns summing up our situation. All the while, Vicky listened with a speculative look. I could't tell if she was too drunk to understand or if we were took drunk to explain it right, but it looked like she was thinking very hard about something. 

We got the usual responses. "WHAT?" "That's bullshit!" "His visa was REFUSED? I thought getting married made him a citizen?" "So how much longer do you have to wait?" and "I'm so sorry for you guys. I can't imagine how much this sucks."

But it was Vicky's response that completely threw me off. 

"So... weird question," she started. "Were you by any chance on 'Love Letters to Kellie' on Kidd Kraddick?"

"I WAS!" I screamed. 

"You were?!"

"She was!" Cayden screamed. 

"Holy shit!" Courtney added. 

And like a bunch of drunk 20-somethings, we freaked the fuck out. 

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