Well folks, it’s over. No more strolling down the beach hand in hand. No more champagne. No more salsa. No more waltzing-even-though-nobody-else-is-waltzing. No more falling asleep next to The Wedding Date or waking up beside him, cursing his alarm and his addiction to the “snooze” button. No more rum, no more rum cakes, and no more mornings spent drinking coffee in the hot tub watching the sun rise.
Because it’s over.
By which I mean the cruise of course, not me and The Wedding Date
We survived. In fact, for the past week we were inseparable. No arguments, no disputes, no “My God, can’t you leave me alone for just ONE HOUR???” I still can’t quite believe it—after everything that’s gone on between us this summer, I was convinced we’d break up somewhere around Day #3 and spend the rest of our vacation trying to avoid one another (which would have been rather difficult given our little matchbox of a room…)—but we made it. And not only that but I’m convinced that The Wedding Date is the best travel partner a girl like me could ever hope for.