Lancaster - I Regret Nothing

I TS N OT S PRING B REAK , O KAY ?

Dont get a tattoo.

I glance over at my husband, Fletch, whos grudgingly agreed to ferry me to the airport at this ungodly hour. We left the house so early that its still basically night outside, with only the palest streaks of pink on the eastern horizon. In the dimness of the drivers seat, his features are barely illuminated by the dashboard lights. Still, even in the dark, I can detect his smirk and Im aggravated. How do you figure tattoos are likely with this crew?

Because youre going on Adult Spring Break. He says this all matter-of-factly, as though its already a fait accompli and the artist will begin inking as soon as I decide between the shoulder tat of Calvin whizzing on a Chevy logo or the rainbow-hued butterfly across my butt cheek.

Id choose neither, obviously.

(Sidebar: Id especially not choose the butterfly. To keep proportionate with the rest of the real estate back there, that thing would have to be the size of a pigeon, which... no.)

Anyway, I dont want to lose my patience with him because hes doing me a favor. Still, Im offended he feels he has to issue warnings. If this trips considered Adult Spring Break, then Im pretty sure were doing it wrong. Julia had us all read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil in anticipation of our trip. No one delves into what critics call a lyrical work of nonfiction to get ready for Spring Break.

He snorts. Yeah, you say that now. Talk to me in forty-eight hours.

Argh.

This is going to be a bona fide grown-up girls weekend. We specifically rented a place with a veranda, where well drink modest amounts of excellent wine. Rachels husbands an oenophile and hes sent along a few of his favorites, which we plan to savor. When was the last time you heard anyone say oenophile in reference to Spring Break, Fletch? Hmm? No answer? Didnt think so.

Fletch flips his blinker and glances over his shoulder before merging into the right-hand lane. His silence speaks volumes.

Whatever you do, dont get the tattoo somewhere visible. Nothing reads I make minimum wage like neck art. Youre never going to run into an allergist with THUG LIFE stenciled over his Adams apple. You dont meet a lot of investment bankers inked up Henry Rollinsstyle.

For all our years together, sometimes its like hes never even met me. Why so danger-danger-Will-Robinson here? If you were to say, Avoid eating a bowl of cheese grits larger than your head, or Maybe you have enough handbags, Id be all, Youre right. Yeah, gonna be better about that, but this is nonsensical! From a logistics standpoint, when do you propose we hit these mythical tattoo shops, anyway? After we tour historical sites? Before our tasting dinner? Between jaunts to antique stores? I havent been one tequila sunrise away from Girls Gone Wild in almost two decades. I guarantee none of the women coming plan to party like its 1999. Or, considering most of us are mid-forties, 1989.

Mark my words: Troubles a-brewing.

I begin to fume in earnest. Youre infuriating! Which of us is Ferris Bueller here, making the good kids do bad things? Joanna? You mean, the kindest, most gentle person to ever send a handwritten thank-you note? You know at three out of the last three weddings shes attended, she and her husband were purposefully seated next to the minister at dinner? Ladies selected to buttress the clergy arent ladies whod willingly give their undies to a geek. I assure you, theres no Ferris in this group.

Youre mixing your John Hughes metaphors. All Im saying is every time you and Joanna get together, youre both eighteen-year-old freshmen again, spilling trash-can punch all over your Keds. Be careful.

(Sidebar: I miss my old Keds.)

As we get closer to OHare, the sky lightens, but the pinkness morphs into gray. Looks like somethings about to blow in, but hopefully not until after were in the air. Julia has a full day of activities planned for our nine thirty a.m. arrival, starting with a group bike ride, of which Ive opted out. Supposedly, the bikes more like a big trolley with a table and everyone pedals and apparently youre encouraged to bring your own snacks and libations. I told her I refused to be part of a hydra-headed jackass, careening down the streets of Savannah in the sweltering heat, even with the benefit of my own sandwich. (Also, I sort of dont know how to ride a bike, but thats not the point.) Instead, I plan to take the convertible Ive rented to the grocery store to stock up on healthy snacks.

You know where they dont worry about providing healthy snacks? Spring Break.