I’ve just returned from my weeklong “Heal the Soul” vacation to Florida. Here’s what I learned:

Road trips sound like the way to go in this time of a global pandemic and a tight economy, but after 17 hours in a packed Honda Accord with two stinky teenage girls and my Nicorette-chewing bald spouse, I’m not thinking about all the airport germs we avoided or the money we saved by driving. More like, “How do I discreetly fashion a shiv from my Wendy’s spork and quietly shank whoever keeps passing gas?”
Rum Runners make everything better, particularly when sipped ocean-side while scarfing down piping-hot conch fritters. I could even discuss our s@&%-show president without blowing a gasket! Truly miraculous!
Sand fleas are no joke. My blonde, blue-eyed, pasty-skinned daughter was “attacked” nearly every time she set foot outside of AC, even with copious amounts of non-DEET-containing products. Her legs were literally covered in hundreds of angry red bites and itchy bumps. I did feel sorry for her, but as she was my child who contracted COVID-19 in August, which subsequently resulted in my own 10-day quarantine, I’ve also delighted in saying, “You had the plague, now you’ve got the pox!” A mother’s love is strong.
I still kind of dig my husband. Sure, he aggravated me to the point of appropriating prison culture during our drive, but away from the demands of work and kids, he’s funny and thoughtful and very sexy in sunglasses and a tan. It was good to be able to see that side of him and remember why I really didn’t want to shank him.

Peace out.