Florida Fever

The sun shone, the mojitos flowed, and Rob made it approximately 16 hours in Florida before collapsing into the hotel bed with a fever. Thank goodness for Nina and Chat, without whom I would have been wandering the streets of South Beach all alone, perhaps eventually lining up shots with this big guy in a mushroom hat who was wheeling his boom box around town. Although that guy already had a sidekick, so maybe I just would have ordered room service. Luckily, we don’t have to wonder about that, because I was safely tucked into a bar stool with my real friends, wondering how on earth my glass of champagne kept refilling itself. Magical.

Rob felt better on Sunday and managed to actually leave the room, which thrilled the hotel’s housekeeping unit, who had called a couple of times to ask if they could please just come in and tidy up after us. I wish more people called me and asked questions like that.

So, aside from the diseased man in the hotel room and a little bit of rain, I would call it a successful trip. You just can’t have a bad time when you’re away from work in 75 degree weather—unless of course, you are quarantined in a hotel room with no appetite, no movie channel and rabid housekeepers pounding down the door.

In keeping with our recent disorganization surrounding vacations, we brought a camera but took no pictures. Which really bums me out when I remember how hilarious Rob looked in his tie-dyed hotel robe.