How Was This Place Vacant?

It is inconceivable to Terry and me that this condo was vacant for this weekend. We are seriously at ground zero for the beach party, it is like spring break here.

It has reached the point of crowded drunkenness that I am not interested in negotiating through the crowd with either a stroller or baby sling. But Terry and I are having some fun with this, nevertheless. I put on my bikini, the old A-cup one that barely fits. I certainly wouldn't wear it if I had to move around in water, but it's eminently appropriate for hanging out the window with a drink in my hand. Nevermind the kids on the first floor terrace are downing what appears to be a vile Sangria-like concoction, and I'm enjoying a nice Pinot Grigio, soon to move on to an Australian Shiraz.

This is not a bad way to enjoy the show. While part of me is wistful about being part of the party on the first floor, getting rowdy and shouting at the passers-by (and I think the guy that owns the place hired a DJ and they're doing karaoke, but I'm not sure), when I think about actually going down there and hanging out with them, I'm so not interested. I'd have to be pretty wasted to not feel like a grandma down there, and I don't drink near as much as I used to, so that ain't gonna happen. While I don't think a little secondhand alcohol in the breastmilk is going to do William any harm, I don't want to drink enough the little baby gets a buzz, c'mon.

And it cracks me up that William won't remember any of this. And he doesn't even have the liquor as an excuse, unlike the 20-somethings downstairs.