Body
Happy Sunday from the loveseat at my sister’s house in Basehor, Kansas! We’re feeling a little tired, a little sad, and 100% addicted to cruise life. Honestly, it’s a classic case of bittersweet. Like eating a giant bucket of French fries and an entire carton of ice cream, despite being lactose intolerant and then spending the next hour in a sugar-and-lactose-fueled panic, questioning all your life choices while clutching your stomach. We’re still dreaming about the cruise life. Lounging on the deck like royalty, reading a book without fear of seagulls stealing it, soaking up the sun like lizards, and stuffing ourselves silly at the endless buffets. (Yes, I’m talking about you, all-you-caneat shrimp—my new personal nemesis.) The ship was basically a floating paradise where calories didn’t count, and naps were mandatory. Now we are stuck here, fighting the urge to stare longingly at the horizon or the leftover cruise snacks like a junkie eyeing their last hit. Don’t get me wrong, I love my bed, my own space, and the fact that I can wear my nightgown all day. But honestly? I might trade all that for one more day pretending I’m a mermaid and the Farmer pretending he’s Aquaman. The ocean breeze in our hair and a fruity drink in our hands, singing “Under the Sea” at the top of our lungs. Until next time, cruise life, you’ve ruined us forever. Send help, or at least more shrimp.