There Are No Lengths I Will Not Go To In the Name of Entertaining the Crowd or How I Ended Up Getting My Breast Fondled By A Bartender Named "French"

That's right. That guy named French, aka the bartender at the Willie T (anchored off Norman Island, British Virgin Islands), is rubbing my breast with an ice cube. Perilously close to my nipple. And you can see, from the photographic evidence below, I hated every second of it.

It took a while for the temporary tattoo to set up, judging by the length of time French spent teasing it on with those itty bitty ice cubes.... and then holding firmly in place with the palm of his hand.... but the results were nothing short of spectacular, no?












I hate to cut it short with just these photos but I am seriously over my head right now with a kajillion things to do to get the house ready to list on Friday, readjusting to life with three ankle-biters following me around (I stepped on the Animal's toes about FIVE times today he's trailing me so close), meetings with psychiatrists, speech therapists, perusing rentals in England, fielding new suggestions on towns that are good to live in over there, fretting about the economy, feeling guilty for spending all that money on vacation, freaking about the trip to Disneyworld next week that WE JUST CANCELLED, due to concerns with all of the formerly mentioned things (and don't worry, the kids are OK with it: they can be such sweethearts sometimes!), AND I am PMS-ing and seriously bloated from seven days at sea. I have so much to write about the trip that was rife with misadventure and more rum than any person should have the right or good sense to drink! I will start the re-telling as soon as I can.

I will let you know NOW, though, that the after-effects of the night out when I got the tattoo (the one shown above) ended up being the worst hangover of my life. However, I will stand by my testimony that it was the wild weather and seasickness that pushed me over the edge. And NOT the shot-ski of jagermeister or that other shot that someone told me about the next day but that I have no recollection of. Let's never speak of it again, 'kay?

p.s. I would like to thank all the new followers and the fabulous people who commented while I was out of town!!! It made my morning to sit down and read through all the hilarious and fabulous comments! I would like to make a special note for the comment that made me laugh the hardest, though, in case you missed it.... I got a serious belly laugh followed by spontaneous giggles every time I thought of it all day. It was posted on my Karaoke Queen story by sAm (her rabbit may not like her, but you will) about the "ABSOLUTE worst [song to karaoke]: Loser by Beck. Nothing makes you feel like a loser quite like repeating it over and over again into a mic. One of those things that seemed like a good idea at the time but really was a horrible idea!" Now imagine how that song goes.... you would have to sing/say into the mic "I'm a LOSER, baby, so why don't you kill me!" about a 50 times in a row at the end! ;-D The mental picture I got on that was so funny (and had nothing, alright, fine, everything to do with an awkward repeat sequence during an atrocious attempt of mine to karaoke Sade's Smooth Operator. Oy!) Thanks, sAm!!