Topless bathers and peeing in the ocean

We are back from yet another trek across the ocean. Growing up, I never went on vacation really. Going to Jackson only happened twice in my memory, and that was only 1.5 hours away. You went to see your relatives an hour away once a year. The only times I left Mississippi were when I went to visit my father, and among my group of friends, I was exotic because I was the only one who had ever been north of the Mason-Dixon line. I went to the beach twice before age 18. None of this is a complaint, but rather an observation as to how different the lives of my children are from my own. When you ask Bunny where she wants to go next year for vacation, the answer is inevitably, "Venice." None of my children consider going to Europe every single year a vacation. It is just a long trip to see the family with the perk of 8 straight hours of watching TV on a plane without mommy making them stop to eat, blink or sleep. And a grandmother who will let you eat 5 pieces of cake at one sitting. So, I find this somewhat disturbing to hear the five-year-old say, "Spain is hot and boring." WHAT? I don't know how to cope with this - all this travel is inevitably making them smarter and more worldly, but will there come a day when they look at something amazing and don't feel a sense of awe anymore? I think soon we will have to take them either the "supersights" route to the Eiffel Tower, the Empire State building, and the Taj Mahal, or the natural route like Victoria Falls or the Grand Canyon before they are impressed. They have no sense of 1,000 year old history being really old and rare. They don't even know how crappy the beaches of Spain are compared to Florida's because they have NEVER BEEN THERE. Well, Miami Beach doesn't count because that is just as weird as going to Spain.

As to the Spanish beaches and European beaches in general, I think it is important to clear up a misconception. All the women going topless. Honestly, think about this. How many women do you know that are not on a reality show that you really want to see the breasts of? As a woman, do you want to expose even more of your body for critique? As I sit happily on the beach in my burkha (well, the European equivalent, a one-piece suit, EVERYONE wears a bikini, including the men), I must admit I do a lot of looking at boobies. I am generally happy with my own, so this is mainly to determine if 1) this person has given birth 2) this person has original boobies 3) how many layers of support garments are necessary to restrain those bubbies. However, 99% of the time, it is just boring. European women have outstanding body self-esteem, and they really don't care much about how they look either in or out of a swimsuit. Almost all the beautiful people keep theirs covered, as well as all the natives. And I am kind of wondering how you handle it when you go on vacation with friends. When your best friend whips off her top and she has mogambo boobies, is your husband/boyfriend not allowed to notice? And if he does notice, how does he not look repeatedly? I have a suspician at to why all the sunglasses on men in Spain are black. Sometimes, you get a stunner on the beach. I have no idea how old this person was, but if you have ever seen one of those people that they periodically find buried in the bogs of Denmark, you get the idea. Well, this woman was in good shape, about 60 years old (I am guessing) and she had breasts that looked like leather. When she lay on her back they would kind of be stretched taut because all the moisture had been sucked out of her skin years ago, and there was no give. After an accidental glance, my husband was so disturbed he wouldn't even turn his body that way. I am just grateful that the European fondness for weenie bikinis on men seems to be passing. The Spaniards missed the message, but the lily white British men are avoiding it at least, for which I am grateful.

Just wondering. When your son asks if he can pee in the ocean, and he is ten-years-old, should it not follow that means you sit to do it, not that you stand with you back to the crowd and squirt toward the horizon? Is this something I should have to explain?

Spain is lovely. Spain is brown. Spain loves to put plastic greenhouses on every possible surface. Spain is still a country where goat herding is a profession. Spain has signs at every exit to the interstate pointing out you can not ride horses on the interstate. Spain has no sand on their beaches, just tiny rocks. Spain has crappy pizza but great orange ice cream. Spain has a radio station where they play every song from your 1980s prom in rotation. Spanish people love children. Spanish people shut down civilization for a two-hour nap everyday. Spanish people don't hate Americans and don't pretend they can't speak English. Even if you drive to the highest point in the Sierra Nevada, it is still brown. Southern Spain has not one freaking thing to see after you go to Grenada. Gypsies are scary. I lay on the beach and fantasized about going to Morocco. Southern Spain is, sadly, a place that I really have no desire to go to again.

After 13 years of marriage, don't you think one of the two people would remember the date before 10 p.m.? Clearly, my husband is not under pressure to come up with something romantic.

I have to stop reading books. Of course, that would mean I have to watch yodeling on the German TV, BUT it would keep me from going off on crazy tangents. Whatever book I am reading directly impacts my behavior. Survivalist novels result in my hoarding food. Victorian novels will causes words like "prithee" and "verily" to be said at some point. Zombie novels are just too horrifying to comprehend. On this trip, I read a whole bunch of novels that caused me to 1) want to be a cop 2) become obsessed with British imperialism and resolve to determine what the status of the Irish Republican movement is 3) consider dog breeding as a job 4) attempt to understand medieval alchemy 5) willing to accept almost any conspiracy theory out there that doesn't involve Jews or the Romanov dynasty and my person favorite, trying to determine if bilocation is possible. You know when you are simultaneously in two places at once? All the good medieval Saints did it. So, supposedly this event happens when both sides of your brain are both turned on and listening or are "in convergence." No, I don't believe it, but now that the obsession to become a crack shot with a rifle has passed, I am going to go and study the mysteries of the mind. If I show up for a visit unexpectedly, just ask me if it is really me or just my shadow self. Later. All those hoarded dirty clothes followed me from Spain.