Has Anyone Seen My Pants? Read Online Free PDF Page A

that Jackie and I were such close friends that we could vacation together and not feel pressured to go down on each other.
    There you go, Sarah, that is a much funnier thought to have.
    It’s impossible for me to relax when a bag is packed, so I unpacked my bag, leaving one entire side of drawers for Jackie, and counted the hangers in the closet to make sure that I leftan equal amount for her. I’m a very polite/anal vacation partner. Then I changed into my bikini and headed down to scope out the lounge-chair situation so when Jackie arrived the next day I’d be armed with the knowledge of what time we needed to get to the pool if we wanted umbrellas. It’s called being a fucking professional.
    On my walk to the pool, I saw a pelican on the beach with a wave cresting in the background, so I snapped a picture. I admired my photography skills, then texted the picture to Jackie and wrote: “So pretty here!”
    “Seriously? You send me a picture of a dirty fucking bird? I wanna see the infinity pool!” she responded.
    “I thought it was pretty!” I wrote back. “And since I’m in Mexico that text cost me fifty cents so maybe be a little nicer.”
    “I’ll give you fifty cents when I get there.”
    Jackie is also a polite vacation partner. I ran back up to the room, took a picture of the infinity pool, texted it to her, and then went downstairs for a poolside cocktail.
    The pool at the hotel was everything I had dreamed it would be: plenty of comfy chairs, a handful of waiters, and very few other people. It’s not that I need complete solitude while sunbathing—if I did, I’d have relaxed by our private infinity pool and ordered room service. But lots of people just hold up the drink service, plus nobody is fooling me when they sit in the pool for hours drinking without ever getting out to pee. I know what you’re doing in there and I don’t like it.
    I spoke to one of the waiters and got the lowdown on whattime Jackie and I should arrive the next day to ensure we had the best seats in the house, then ordered myself a margarita, grabbed a chair, and caught up on the latest Us Weekly . I was only there for a few minutes before someone came by to check on me. Nice service, I thought.
    “You need to order drink for you husband?” the waiter asked.
    “It’s just me today,” I sighed.
    “Jus you?”
    “Yeah, jus me!” I smiled and held the magazine up as close to my face as possible.
    “Oh-kay,” he replied.
    Did he just say “okay” with a super-sad tone in his voice? I shrugged it off, ordered another margarita, and headed back to my room. The sun was starting to go down so I figured I’d get that writing in before Jackie arrived and all hell broke loose.
    I had three or four more margaritas while I wrote in the hotel room. I wrote while lying on the bed, I wrote on the balcony, I even started to write while sitting in the infinity pool until I realized what a shitty idea that was now that I was tipsy. A couple hours later, after I got a pretty decent amount of work done and noticed I was making more typos than usual, I decided it was time for a meal that wasn’t liquid. I put on a cute sundress and headed down to the hotel restaurant. (Don’t worry; I leave the resort at some point in this story. But half-drunk and alone didn’t seem like the safest option—I was still in Mexico, you guys.)
    I approached the hostess station and asked for a table for dinner.
    “For how many?” she asked me politely.
    “Just one!” I said, probably louder than I needed to.
    “Follow me!”
    Finally! Someone isn’t giving me the third degree about dining alone, and of course it’s a woman! Men are so stupid.
    She sat me at a nice table with a lovely view of the ocean and said my waiter would be right over. I felt so relaxed; the ocean always makes me feel that way. And there was a really light breeze and a gorgeous sunset. This is perfect.
    A busboy approached the table and looked at me.
    “ Hola! ” I greeted