Spring Break in November

Dr. Fiancé and I are, as I write this, on our way to Cancun. Cancun, Mexico, wet t-shirt contest capital of the world.

To explain, Dr. Fiancé had a free companion ticket, this is the airline’s one “international” destination, the fiancé gets twitchy if he hasn’t left the country in a while—especially during the Bush administration, it’s November, we live in Seattle, and he’s a doctor. This is the kind of thing doctors do, apparently, especially when they have fiancées who aren’t inclined towards “rugged adventure”—fiancées who don’t own hiking boots, (don’t want to own hiking boots because that would mean they’d have to hike), don’t own a proper backpack, (see previous), and don’t believe that a vacation should have to involve any sort of training or conditioning other than maybe learning the Spanish for, “Can you point me to a soft place to lay down and rest for a bit?”