The vacationer

I was looking forward to my trip, a short hop out to some sun-drenched islands reeking of humidity, icy drinks and scantily-clad girls all eager to find a rich foreigner to take them off of the sun-drenched island. I guess people who live in the tropics dream of the cold grey metropolises that the rest of us want to escape. It's either that or they're sick of seeing tourists wrapped in too-short and too-bright polyester clothes pile out of a tour bus, take a picture of some chickens and pile back in to the next predetermined site of Interest.

The girls didn't matter anyways, seeing how I had a wife and two kids back at home; the thought briefly flickered in my mind of a dark-skinned hula dancer in a french maid outfit, but that thought disappeared after a moment. I'm sure I could pay for that on the island if I wanted it, but what I really wanted was a cocktail.

So where were my wife and kids, you ask? Well, theoretically I have an friend who lives on the island who I've been close to since I was a kid, but really my friend's name is spiced rum and he and I get along just fine without the family tagging along. It works every time, I go to the island, relax, and come back and we do something as a family. Everyone is happy, and I come back without the urge to go on a murder-suicide rampage, so that's an added bonus.

And I've never been unfaithful to my wife. No, sir. I may have had some titties shook in my face, and maybe I grabbed a few, but every night the only thing I'm cradling in my arms is that bottle. I may lie to my wife to get away from her yap every so often, but I'm true. She's got a sweet ass anyways, so it's not like there's anything better out there. Besides, when I get home, I'm more in love than ever. That and she lets me do her from behind.

My job? Heh, nothing special- I work two jobs. The first is your traditional 9-5 corporate shmuckery- I sit in my office all day, stare out the window or look at porn on the Internet, take lunch, maybe do about ten minutes of work and then sneak out early. The boss would say something, I guess, but since I have pictures of him and his male secretary safely locked away, I pretty much don't give a crap.

I have another job, and that's a weekly gig playing drums at a nightclub. I tell my wife that I'm going to a poker night with the boys, and they all corroborate the story, especially since I get them in for half-price. It doesn't hurt that Lana the waitress knows what's up and gets all of us drinks throughout the night. I play pretty good drums, but when I've had a few in me, I just relax, you know, and play loose. The job pays like shit, frankly, but it goes in my fund to come out here. When that fills up, I tell my wife that old Bobby has called me up and wants me to come out, and finances are too tight to take everyone. One time, just to mix things up I brought the family out; too bad "Bobby" was away on business that week.

I've got it pretty good. A happy, loving family and the ability to get the hell away from them every so often. My wife even works- she's a nurse at a local school. She's so good at it that every year they elect her to go to some School Nurses of America celebration out in Palm Springs. I've never been to it, and she says it's boring: she goes every year, though. I suppose she likes talking the trade with the other nurses; which kid stabbed himself in the eye with a pencil or whatever. Sounds like a snooze to me.

Anyways, none of that matters- I'm on a plane to the tropics, and a beach, and a tall glass of alcohol. The rest are cares that can disappear, for now.

Edit: After re-reading this, let me state that it's a work of fiction. While I'm certain that my wife wouldn't mind me skipping off to a tropical island to carouse with sexy native women, I'm not sure I would want to deal with the unfortunate "accident" that would occur upon my return.