Every year my in-laws go to the Caribbean for 2 weeks with three other couples. They have been doing this forever. They come home every year and regale us with stories that would make your ears curl up and fall off your head. Tales of costumes, skits, songs. It sounds like kid’s summer camp, except instead of bug juice there is a lot (A LOT) of gin and tonics. And wine. And beer. Enough that my FIL always says that one of these years they are going to swing by Betty Ford for a couple of days on the way home to dry out.
Apparently crazy things always happen at the beach. Just last week they were discussing the nun habit that my FIL got for my MIL to wear this year. He has a monk outfit. But our favorite story is the year my MIL was showing the vacation pictures to a friend and she had forgotten to take out the picture of my FIL, wearing only an apron. I didn’t ask if the view was from the front or the back. I now refuse to look at vacation pictures. You can never be too cautious.
This year the ‘rents decided to swing by our town on their way down. I picked them up from the airport yesterday, with the Boo in tow.
MIL: Can we stop by a department store? We need to buy red bras for FIL and Tommy.
That kind of comment will send you careening off the road. Into opposing traffic. Full of semis. What do you say to that? Part of me was freaking out but part of me was fascinated that I could participate in this psychosis. So off we went to Target. I couldn’t see buying my FIL a Victoria’s Secret bra that he would only wear for 2 weeks. Really. 15 minutes later we were in the Lingerie department.
And there he was. My 6’5″ FIL, trauma surgeon extraordinaire, trying on a lovely red lace bra over his green shirt. It fit.
I could go on about Gonzalo, Target’s Customer Service Representive/Traumatized Checker, but I have already gone too far. These people sure know how to have a good time.