The Last Few Moments

Oh gosh.

Where do I begin?

I am sitting on the balcony of our hotel room. It is late evening on the last day of my honeymoon. I can hear the ocean and taste the salt in the air. It is quiet, warm and unimaginably humid. The night sky is an explosion of stars and as I take it all in, I am stunned at how quickly time passes.

My husband is lying on the bed sound asleep. Today was another busy one for us. We spent the afternoon scuba diving off the coast of Cancun in the reef by Isla Mujeres. It was fantastic. Yesterday, we did a couple of dives over in Cozumel. I can't understand why I was so resistant to Mexico as a choice for our honeymoon because it really has been a dream with one exception:

I am terrified to get on the bathroom scale.

I kept telling people that all of the willpower that they witnessed over the last two months was so that I could eat and drink like a conquering Roman on my honeymoon.

And I did.

WE did. Without restraint. Shamefully. I finally see the reasoning behind togas as a fashion choice. Back when feathers and Trojan horses were all the rage, there was no such thing as elasticized pants. I get it. Pass the guacamole, amigo.

My middle name is now 500 Calorie Pina Colada. Por Favor.

With a cherry.

And a plate of fried calamari.

There is so much to share and over the next several days, I plan to discuss such scintillating topics as going topless and bad singers in white polyester leisure suits but for now, I've got to call it a night. In six hours, the alarm will go off for the first time in three weeks and I need some good shut eye time to prepare for reemergence into reality.