Hurricane Fay

As if Orlando in August isn't dreadful enough on its own, throw in one asshole named Nick and one slow moving tropical storm named Fay. We had 2 sunny days, the day we arrived and the day we left. It otherwise pissed rain with the occasional tornado watch.

I can keep pretending that there is not some kind of grand supernatural conspiracy against me, but I'm becoming convinced that I must have been mean to old people and kicked puppies in a previous lifetime. Now I'm doing my penance.

We did venture out to the parks a few times where we shared the territory mainly with visitors from the UK, Ireland and the land of Froggies. Apparently they are used to business as usual despite torrential downpours. The good news is that we got through all the rides really fast, as there were virtually no lines.

More good news: American women, despite our reverence of everything European, have not cornered the market on poor decision making with respect to who belongs in a bikini. Maybe the Europeans were trying to solve their vitamin D deficiencies all in one day by exposing as much surface area as possible?
Anyhow, our tubby gals in the US can keep wearing their tiny two pieces and say with confidence "this is how they do it in Europe". Despite their repeated egregious swimwear faux pas, I did not spot any ladies from the other side of the pond wearing matched Lycra or velor sweat suits out to dinner. So they win.

Even though Nick forgot his blood pressure medicine, I strongly resisted the urge to put him on the big roller coasters, mainly because there was too much luggage for me to haul back by myself. The too-much-shit was of course compounded by Nick, who can no more pass a maid's cart without filling his pockets than a premenstrual woman can make it past a chocolate shop. If anybody is in need of shower caps or little bottles of shampoo, please notify me immediately.