Passing Through The Straits

There comes a time in every boy's life when he has to leave the party and cocoon. This is often called a party foul, though I call it good ol' self-preservation. After Tuesday's mythical day with Sabina and the Empire-themed party on the cruise ship (in which we all wore awesome togas coordinated by yours truly), I hit the sheets around 2 a.m.

A few hours later, daylight, to be exact, J-Dawg brought his hysterically buzzed butt into our stateroom to announce we were passing through the straits. Now, I was asleep, and sometimes when I'm asleep I say or do things that don't make good sense. And as it was just maybe 3 hours after I'd hit my slumber and I was possibly REM'ing, I could only stare at J-Dawg and say, "Gibraltar? Dardenelle?" Those were the only straits I'd ever referenced and for brief moment I wondered why we might be passing into either the Atlantic or the Black Sea when the Aegean was our destination.

"No, between Sicily and Italy, dumbass," was the reply.

I had to keep sleeping but fortunately Jon grabbed his camera and captured the moment digitally. So it wasn't surprising when I was fresh as a daisy at 9 a.m. and kicking it poolside and he slept until 2, but that's all good. It's what we do when we're on vacation.

Wednesday's Day-At-Sea was good stuff. Quite honestly, I love a day at sea. My idea of vacation is moving slow and enjoying the moment, so a break from hitting the bricks was, indeed, just what I needed.