Houston… we have a Karen

We’re sleeping in Houston tonight – after eating our way westward across Louisiana this seemed the best place to fly out of for a trip to Cancun…
Never mind the fact we (read: Dan) had to drive through a mini tsunami to get here. I actually made him leave Avery Island ahead of schedule because… well to be honest once the radio stations started with that ominous “public broadcasting system warning” shit – I was over our trip to Louisiana. He saw the stacked barrels of [pre-Tabasco sauce] pepper mash (which stunk, by the way), he saw them bottle, cap, and label the green and chipotle sauce; and he spent $174 in the Tabasco General Store… what I’m saying is – he walked away early, but happy (the $174? ha! the Packers Pro Shop owns the rights to a couple of our kids….). We stopped in Lake Charles, La to ship back extra clothes and souvenirs and happened upon an excellent seafood restaurant (they, too, had sinks outside the restrooms – my food choice today did not warrant gloves….). And… then… we (Dan) rounded out the drive fighting gale force winds because clearly everything IS bigger in Texas. Now we sleep and prepare for relaxing on the shores of Cancun….
Lemme say this: I’m not a Cancun person – I’m a jam-myself-in-a-parka-and-wedge-myself-into-my-bleacher-seat kinda girl. Those maxi dresses that look so damned cute in the magazine? I can’t even get those bastards on – there’s straps and elastic and I’m generally a sweaty, pissed off mess by the time I pull it down; then I look in the mirror and say, “What the fuck did they send me?”
I’m distraught thinking about my clothing for the next few days – but the poolside drinks and inevitable sun poisoning drew me in. As a side note it should be mentioned that my well-meaning, dolt of a husband has answered all of my self-conscious worries with such comments as, “oh you’ll never see those people again…” (PSA announcement to husbands – this ain’t the way to go). Another (male) friend said, “Once you see the other women there you’ll realize there’s always worse.” Again – men – shut yer stupid, fucking mouths and tell us how hot we are; it ain’t brain surgery for chrissake.
So… the next 4 days should be fun… Of course, when I’m lying there wishing I hadn’t forgotten to diet, I can always think back on tonight’s phone call home and remember Pop saying, “nahhhh they’re fine. You know they’re never any troub… Oh good – the big one has her sax out. Thank you for that….”