For the first time in about 14 years, I took a real vacation. By real vacation, I mean lay on a beach chair and sip fruity drinks out of a coconut all day. I was a side guest at the Dinolis-Hendricks wedding at Dreams Punta Cana Resort. Ritza invited me because I'd asked her about her next trip to Panama. Kooky, I know. A person inquires about a trip to Panama; gets invited to the Dominican Republic. But I hadn't been on vacation for quite some time, 14 years to be exact, and I decided to go.
Ritza wanted to stay at the resort an extra day so she wouldn't have to rush. I wanted to stay longer, too. (In all actuality, I could have stayed until Thursday.) I asked her about sharing the cost of the room for an extra day. She agreed. Unfortunately, this discussion took place via BBM and there is no hard and fast record of it. When the time came to get the room for the extra day, she decided to place her belongings into her mother's room, stay there for the night, curse me out, tell me how poor of a choice travel buddy I was, and walk off and leave me in the lurch repeatedly throughout the day.
In the end, I wound up staying in a queen suite alone for $91.00. The peace and quiet was worth it. And overall, I had a fantastic time on the trip. It was a totally relaxing, lay-on-the-beach-all-day, drink-all-inclusive-drinks-till-you're-silly, eat-seafood-buffets-every-time-you-turn-around, experience that has re-ignited my long dormant wanderlust in a mighty way.
This post is a sharply abbreviated version of what actually happened. And there are two sides to every story. But this is mine.
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