Cashew Vacation

After indulging in just about all the partying I could handle in Daytona--which isn't a whole lot, thank God I wasn't born a Kardashian--I am now enjoying what I like to refer to as "the good life" in South Carolina with my family on vacation.   Except this time it isn't just my family.  My boyfriend and my sister's "lover" (husband, boyfriend, cabana boy all also quasi-apply) have joined us.   Just to clarify, when I say "vacation" I don't mean, "let's kayak, snorkel, enjoy shopping, and learn to wakeboard" kind of vacation.  In my family, vacations consist of lying on the beach, lying on the porch, reading, drinking wine at dinner, and generally doin' nothin'.   Which is fine by all of us.   But I have to admit, I was a bit concerned the interlopers wouldn't find the same joy we find in this dull routine.   But so far, so good.

Some of my best family memories have happened here in Litchfield, South Carolina.   On the fourteen hour car ride down, (which seemed excruciating until I turned about 14) my sister and I used to make up musicals (like normal kids do) and listened to Les Mis and the Pointer Sisters ad nausem, balking loudly when our parents tried to substitute in their lite rock.  When at the beach, priority number one for my sister and I was a wet sand fight, which I would invariably lose after my sister's over-enthusiastic chucking.   I would sheepishly saunter back to the towel, bruised and covered in wet, crusty, sand.  And the fun didn't end with childhood.   When I was a thirteen I had my first kiss (with tongue!) under the stars of Litchfield one night, after lying and telling a 16 year-old boy I was 15.  I also had a great time with my sister chugging Seagram's wine coolers on the beach and then happily turning cartwheels a few years later.  The stuff dreams are made of, really.   

This vacation: nothing noteworthy to report.  Which is exactly how I want it.   It's just been low-key like usual... making fun of my sister's penchant for nudity, taking binoculars and thrusting them into my mom's face screaming "Ima peep ya'll!", talking about Pippa Middleton's ass, being called "tasty" by a pot-bellied old southern man in front of my mother AND father, avoiding a ravenous, blood-thristy duck during dinner, and of course, trying to convince everyone else in the family that hummus and rice cakes do, in fact, make for a delicious meal.  The stuff I'm sure all of you do with your families.