Eating Nachos in a hotel bed
Winner or scumbag?
Greetings, dearest ones! You may remember that I’ve been in Tampa, Florida. This post is delayed because I’ve been so busy; busy being nosey, busy drinking $5 Happy Hour Margaritas, busy napping, busy swimming in the hotel pool, busy forgetting my contact lens case and hair serum (hair resembling a bird’s nest)
At the time of writing, it is Thursday, I am lying in bed watching ‘The Good Wife’ (go figure) and eating nachos in bed whilst writing to my groupies - I’ve got it more than good, I know. Also, some other useless information:
ALCOHOL UNITS = ATROCIOUS. DISPICABLE. TAXI TO REHAB IMMEDIATELY.
FOOD INTAKE = MEXICAN, COLUMBIAN, MEXICAN. PRAWNS.
It’s been quite the week, I’ve been out EVERY SINGLE NIGHT with Az and his delightful team. I am so lucky - they treat me as if I’m part of the furniture, and I’ve felt so welcome. It makes me yearn for my old team in London, supping on a beer in the student bar.
Back to Florida - from what I’ve seen so far is exactly what I thought it would be - tall, gangly, parched Palm trees everywhere, the freeways are wide jam packed with cars, alongside them are huge billboard signs for food outlets, bars, ‘Bob’s Best BBQ’. Balmy warm weather. There is a hazy 90s vibe - like Miami Vice TV Show, I can’t explain it, but it seems a bit dated. I’m into it, though. So far, I’ve not seen anything other than the Hotel pool, bar, and the gigantic sprawling mall next to the hotel. In the duration of my stay, I must have circumnavigated the mall 4/5 times, I did not buy a single thing. Mainly because a lot of the shops were high-end, and nothing was really under $100. Despite Az insisting on ‘getting myself something’ which I politely declined, can it be noted how easy going, how dreamy, how low key I am? I was also the doting wife, engaging with all and sundry, asking far too many questions for people I’d just met, I had people confide in me things they’d never told anyone before - so just to make them feel they weren’t exposed and out there on a limb - I doubled down and gave them what for. Ha - the poor lambs must have thought, ‘Who the hell is this? I only came out for a cold beer, and I know what bra size she is and the name of her first pet. Deeper chats about not having children. If you don’t want them 100%, don’t have them. I can see you have a wonderful relationship, I’d love that for myself’ said one of Az’s work colleagues with a wistful face.
Poor Az had a stye, a sure sign he was run down and overworked, early mornings, late nights, and performing the corporate dance. I was backwards and forwards to the bathroom so he had a warm compress, I even unpacked all of our clothes, which I never do. I am in full expat wife duty, and I’m not hating it. Az was constantly asking where things were, even though at home he operates under a firm ‘Floordrobe’ policy - he abandons his clothes on the spot -undies, T-shirts, as if he’s on fire and about to flee the house! If he weren’t so scrumptious, I’d have beaten him long ago. Yes, I can say that, because it’s a joke. No, beating someone isn’t a joke. Saying that, if someone ever laid their hands on me, they wouldn’t get a second round. Where were we?
I had an interesting chat with a guy at the local Mexican bar last night. There I was sitting on my own, minding my own business, and he was across from me, scribbling in what looked like a diary. We ended up locking eyes while joking with the bartender, and then, out of nowhere, he says, “Excuse me, ma’am, can I come and tell you something?” Ominous.
What’s he about to say? That I have Spinach in my teeth? Or perhaps a marriage proposal? He introduces himself as Lewis, we shake hands, and he tells me, “I like your vibe, your smile, your laugh.” Seems full on writing it down but he had a warm energy, certainly not pervy and it wasn’t flirting exactly—or if it was, I should tell the poor lamb to work harder - he then continues and says he likes my hair, aw, bless, he then asks me what I think of my hair. A strange question—I’ve never been asked that before, unless of course I’m in the hairdressers, which makes sense.
My hair that night was styled in this retro-meets-edgy look: high flick at the top, with two swirls in the back. Think old-school Hollywood meets Gwen Stefani. I describe my style to him, and he nods, then says, “Yeah, it’s kind of like something Pippi Longstocking might wear.”
Wait—what? Pippi Longstocking? I’ve heard the name, but I couldn’t picture her style. I'm making a note to self: I’ll Google it when he leaves me alone.
Lewis then mentions he’s new to Florida, so I took the chance to casually mention that my husband and I are newish to America, too, and it can be really tough. I swear I heard a balloon pop as he slowly sauntered back to his seat, trying to remain updated but deflated.
Then, I googled Pippi Longstocking. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Bastard. Lewis - work on your chat, pal. Please note, my hair was not like this.
The weekend rolls around, and we are spending it with Az’s colleague and their husband in a resort-style community just off Safety Harbour in West Tampa. It’s walkable, with bike lanes and a beautiful lake to accompany you.
In Florida, you are always surrounded by water, and it doesn’t take much investigation to see how destructive the hurricanes are and to see the damaged trees and houses. This is the first time we’ve gotten out of the city and seen other areas. The beaches are stunning, white sand resembling fine caster sugar, green and blue hues, gentle waters, you can’t imagine how one moment it’s paradise and the next like the end of the world. Despite this, Az and I have looked at property websites to see what a 2-bed, 2 bath might be - KILL ME. I’m sure it will fizzle out.
We visit quaint little towns which don’t have 10 lane freeways running through them, we do multiple pit stops and end up on the beach supping on Rum slushies. All I can say is, they were almost bigger than my head (and my head is big), laced with Rum, Ice, fruit juice and cherries on top. We slurped these down and people watched, annoyingly, there’s always one Jock isn’t there? Some extremely loud and important man was telling us in great detail the contents he had in his ‘Ga-rarrrge’, and the chat (if it wasn’t so loud) could put a glass eye to sleep; he was also wearing a ‘Gulf of America’ T-shirt. Tragic and terrifying. We don’t need him to shout his political preferences, since it’s blindly obvious. When he left, there was a glorious moment of silence, and I could sense everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
We walk along the toasty white sand that tickles your feet. I approach the water and it’s warm like a bath! Unlike other oceans, it didn’t have me running in the opposite direction. I spy two older ladies lying on the sand with the waves gently lapping their feet, I want them to have a record of this moment because it’s so beautiful to witness - I can’t resist, I ask them if I can take their photo and pray they don’t think I’m a pervert. They are bemused but entertain the neurotic English girl. I lie down opposite them and get sand everywhere. I don’t care, I take the photo and send it ‘Thank you, sweet lady’ responds the woman. Humanity! Restored!
Our final destination is a rooftop bar to watch the sunset;. Everyone else in Florida has the same idea. The bar is packed: adults with their elderly parents, young kids running around, and college kids toasting the moment.
We head back to the house and feel for the first time since we’ve been in the US, that we’ve had some sort of vacation, it must be the water and the sand element. I’m not the biggest beach lover, but I can get on board with a sunlounger and a parasol! It was a feast for the eyes and the senses.
I am home now, thank god, because I am in pieces, I need sleep, drying out and a good chunk of reality!
Have a great week, my lil love doves.
Thank you for being here :)