Linen Button Downs, a Woozie, and a Pirate

I took a break from busting up marriages and driving back and forth to Publix to go on a few recent trips.  First, Bret and I celebrated our 15^th wedding anniversary at The Cloister at Sea Island.

Have you ever been?  You must go.

No, let’s try that again.  Have you ever been to The Cloister?  (Now pinch your nose and tilt your head back.  Kind of talk in the back of your throat.  Use your best Charleston accent – or a fake British accent works too – Yoouu Muusst Visit the Cloister).

When we arrived, there was a little guy on a golf cart waiting outside.  God must have told him the Joneses were coming, because he had our room key and everything ready.  God knows rich people appreciate this kind of thing, and since we were pretending to be filthy rich for a weekend, God played along. 

When we got to our room, which was unbelievably large and glamorous, I noticed someone had spread rose petals all over the room.  It caused a zap in my brain – near the part where the OCD monster lives.  Then, the butler asked me if I would like the Wall Street Journal or the New York Times with my breakfast. 

I had already decided I was not going to clean up those rose petals, and being asked to choose between newspapers was just too much decisionmaking on vacation, so Bret and I got the hell out of there and went to the outdoor bar, where we met Dr. and Mrs. Burns.  Dr. Burns is retired doctor.  I know this because EVERYONE addressed him as Doctor Burns. 

But, I found Mrs. Burns much more interesting.  She was probably in her 70s.  She was fabulously dressed.  Mrs. Burns showed me some “jokes” she had printed off her email account.  Mercifully, they were actually funny.  I was scared they would not be because the bar TV was earnestly set on 24-Hour-Fox-News (which is what I think is funny). 

Mrs. Burns was drinking Chardonnay.  I do not know what kind, they did not tell us.  In fact, the bartender mentioned that this was a 5 Star Hotel and they did not carry Kendall Jackson Chardonnay.  It was beneath them.

So Mrs. Burns and I drank fancy Cloister Chardonnay, but hers was special because she drank hers from a Woozie:

Rich people like Woozies, Lilly Pulitzer swimsuits, and linen Ralph Lauren button downs with no undershirt.

The Burns couple got to talking about their children, and I learned one was a doctor, one was a lawyer, and one was a CPA.  After they briefly argued about where their daughter went to medical school (Mrs. Burns was convinced it was MUSC, Dr. Burns was certain it was Mercer, you would think they would know – I assume they paid for it), I asked Mrs. Burns, so what was your secret?  How did you turn out such great kids? 

She said:

“I told them to hang their own shingle.”

Well, I’m a lawyer.  “Hang your shingle” has a special somewhat terrifying meaning to lawyers.   Mrs. Burns did not know I was a lawyer, so I asked her “What does hang your own shingle mean to you?”

She told me that education was the most important thing.  Mrs. Burns told me that she taught her children to learn a skill, so no matter what happens, they are not dependent on others for their livelihood.  Her kids would be responsible for themselves, and “hang their own shingles” if necessary. 

This was a variation of the same advice Peggy gave me when I was a little girl.  Peggy told me: 

Ashby, you do not know what life has in store for you.  You do not know if you will marry, or if you do marry that your husband will take care of you.  Or, what if you do marry and something bad happens?  What if he passes away?  What if he leaves?  You have to learn to do something to take care of yourself. 

You need to learn to be more than someone’s wife or some kid’s mother.

But you also need to take tennis lessons.  Because the good girls know how to play tennis.  And you will never meet a good man if you do not know how to play tennis.  Now stand up straight and hold your shoulders back.

A few weeks later, Bret and I took the kids on a cruise. 

This was ever so slightly less fancy than the Cloister. 

First, we slept in a closet.  It was a comfortable closet, but it was definitely a closet.  Also, the amenities were different.  The Cloister had the most luxurious soaps and shampoos  (I stole them all).  The Cloister had a little bowl of chilled cucumber slices for my tired eyes. 

On the Carnival boat, our amenities included a Bic razor, Arm and Hammer whitening toothpaste, and Breathe Right Nasal Strips.

If you do not believe me, here is a picture (I stole those too):

The Carnival Cruise prefers Breathe Right Advanced Nasal Strips because it opens the nose more completely.

At the Cloister, we had great food.  Dinner was a highly choreographed affair.  We had two waiters who appeared on either side of our table and simultaneously glided towards us, placing silver covered plates in front of us. 

We sat right in front of that fireplace.  I dared Bret to request some ranch dressing so he could dip his food.

Then the waiters simultaneously lifted the silver tops to reveal a tiny mound of food.  A moment of silence.  Then, one waiter would quietly describe what we were eating.  The food tasted better than anything you could imagine.  The food was crazy delicious.

It was glorious.

The Carnival Cruise had an ice cream machine.   We allowed the kids unlimited access to this ice cream.  And they ate it 3-4 times a day.  There was also an unlimited pizzeria, and lots and lots of booze.  The Carnival foisted booze on us at every turn.  Booze in cute cups, booze in plastic fish with a straw out-the-mouth, and tangy Chardonnay in plastic cups (Chardonnay should not be tangy).   All we had to do was give them our room key-they even added the tip in for us so we didn’t have to make a decision!

Since everyone on the cruise had booze and ice cream to numb our senses, entertainment wasn’t really a big deal.  Instead of a chilled bottle of Champagne in our elegantly appointed room (The Cloister), we had a towel animal.

Also, there were random photo-ops, like the time we left the dining room and a Pirate appeared.  There was no pirate theme on this boat, and no talk of pirates, so we were confused.  Also, this was a pushy pirate – he said “Smiley-Smiley!!” and after the photo was taken he shoved us aside and said “now GO!”

It's kind of menacing how he holds that plastic sword under my babies' throats isn't it?

Maggie learned to do the Thriller dance on the cruise.  She also helped me pick out some DUTY FREE(!) perfume.  Despite his best efforts, Houston did not once break his arm while running across the slick deck, skipping along the edge of the boat, or slinging himself down the spiral slide.  The kids sang karaoke – and they chose my going-to-court themesong, Fighter by Christina Aguilera, which pleased me.

We stopped at Nassau and the kids decided to try the dual slide. 

Bret and I watched them climb the fake Mayan Temple together, wait in line together, and giggle.  We watched our babies simultaneously board the top of the slide, and effortlessly glide to the bottom.  There was a moment of silence when our babies were dropped in the bottom of the pool.

Then they simultaneously lifted their heads above water and shouted “we want to do it again!!” Their joy was crazy delicious.

It was glorious.

Yes, she is going to be taller than me.  But I am meaner.