We are talking vacations here. And mine has been so much better. Here’s Hal’s email to me a week into the trip and two days into Camp Rifleman:
"For the record, sleeping in a tent sucks. Camp food sucks. Restaurant food isn’t much better. Christ, I’m a cranky traveler. Shooting lying on your belly isn’t that much fun either. No wonder ranges have those little benches in front of the firing line. None of that pansy shit here. It’s stretch out on the nasty old carpet spread out on the concrete."
Meanwhile, I’ve been puttering around this big quiet house, leaving things laying around then going back in two hours just to see it still there. Goodness, that’s exciting. I’ve rearranged all the furniture. Cleaned out the garage. Planted three plants. Hung all the orchids I haven’t managed to torture to death on the front fence in the shade. I’ve been manicured ($10), pedicured ($14), waxed ($30), massaged ($55) and had a professional cut my hair ($24).
Having a professional cut my hair is big news. I’ve been cutting my own hair for the past two years and, let me tell you, it looks like it. But I had no choice: no matter where I went and how much I paid, Costa Rican stylists just don’t get it. I suspect – and this is wild speculation – it’s because ticas wear their hair long. And since most beauty shop customers are ticas, where is anyone going to get short hair cutting experience? Nobody has that cute Ellen Degeneres do. Except me now: Anya at the Beauty Club came through and did a great job. I look marvelous, everyone says so.
The wax job was not so great and I’m going to find someone else next time. Right off the bat, waxing is just not that much fun:
Secondly, the whole point of waxing instead of shaving is to rip the hair out WITH the root, not break off the hair at the skin. I can do that at home with my Mach3. Getting the root out means the hair grows back softer, no stubble, no ingrown hairs and less of ’em all together. Pretty. Breaking it off at the skin means blotchy, itchy, stubble-y new-growth misery. I have stubble places stubble should never, ever be. Not pretty. But I’ll live.
I suspect, wildly again, that my waxer didn’t do a thorough job because she was afraid to hurt me. You know, that gentle tica thing along the lines of not being able to say "No." She sure wasn’t shy. Someone needs to tell her pain in the name of aesthetics is often necessary. I guess she hasn’t seen the video. I’m on a mission to find a great waxer in Costa Rica. I found Anya, didn’t I?
Other than stubble, this has been the best vacation ever. Winston even got groomed today, his reward for completely adoring me. All he wants is a nod in his direction and he goes crazy! Why did I get married? Oh, yeah, I remember.
Here’s the scary part about being home alone: I don’t miss the boys. That’s a little unnerving. Usually I’m crazy without them, but hey, they have a Higher Power and I’m not it. I am starting to miss Hal. A little tiny bit. And I am, after all, still his Higher Power. But he’ll be home tomorrow night… Me ‘n Winston are going to just hang out and enjoy the quiet this last night at home, alone in Costa Rica. With the rain and the glittering lights across the valley. And the remote. This is livin’.