Category: The Mc

Planning a vacation with a man who doesn’t fly is more of a challenge than you might think. Or not. Maybe it’s exactly the frustrating, heart wrenching, patience exhausting, hope inciting, dream dashing challenge you’re imagining.

He’s finally agreed to going somewhere via one of them thar big aireoplanes for what we’ll call our baby-moon (since approximately one year from now we’ll be breaking ground, then giving birth to a cabbage and will be sustaining ourselves on a steady diet of mac & cheese, ramen noodles and beanie-weenies until then) and when you’re traveling with someone who has seen exactly 2% of the world (anything in driving distance + the trips he took to Vegas and PA with his ex which I absolutely, positively do not bring up every time I get homesick) the options are no easier to wrap your brain around than the world being round. HOLY CRAP. IT’S ROUND? I’m pretty sure I owe someone $10 for that.

We’ve been talking about this for 9 months, easy; and we’re less than 4 weeks away from a damn well earned vacation thankyouverymuch and curse you [redacted], because I can’t talk about just how much I’ve earned this. We’re 4 weeks away and we’ve made zero progress in picking a location. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

I want turtles and a cheap flight (because that part is my responsibility and in my new found almost debt-freeness, I have palpitations delightfully paired with a pucker affliction when we start talking about my pocketbook), he wants exotic. I think. I don’t know, because I stop listening after I say “turtles” and “cheap flight”.

Turks & Cacois? BVI? Barbados? Bermuda? Bahamas?

We’ve picked up an embarrassing amount of travel magazines, we’re poking around on our adoptive mothers timeshare site (God bless her), we’re looking at LastMinute, I’ve been sporadically scouring TripAdvisor while inhaling lunch at my desk (and yes, I know the urban myth about it being dirtier than a toilet), which only proves that my ability to research is only outshone (?) by my ability to talk myself into a stupor. In my defense, the only correct answers to the vacation quandary are: home (Anchorage), Machu Picchu, the Galapagos, and Egypt. Maybe The Burren for a week by myself, maybe a tree house in Fiji.

Not only are we not any further along in our decision making than we were 9 months ago, we’re probably in a deficit. Also? I need to stop playing the ex card…right after I get his B.A. Baracus style medicated ass on a plane and take him home. I suck with a blow-dart gun, so that narrows our options. Again.

I’ll keep you posted.

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