What I Did on My Summer Vacation (or my Life as a Beach Babe)

I am not a summer vacation person. Maybe that’s because I possess the uber-fair skin that requires liberal application of SPF 50 just to take out the garbage. Or because I grew up in a beach town. Sun, sand and Wal-Mart sized souvenir shops hold little fascination for me. You are far more likely to see me strolling along the Seine in Paris in October than along one of Florida 's Gulf beaches in July.

However, it had been a grueling few weeks at work. And I haven’t lived on a coastline in three years.

So when my recurring gentleman caller (RGC) suggested a weekend getaway, the thought of sugar white sands, turquoise water and romantic sunset dinners al fresco sounded good (as did sleeping late and hotel-provided housekeeping).

And because I’m all about the food, my taste-buds, deprived of good seafood for the past three years, salivated at the mere suggestion of real shrimp po-boys, creamy crab bisque, succulent bay scallops and stuffed flounder. The deal was sealed.

The hotel suite, overlooking the Gulf, was spacious and beautiful with a wrap-around balcony. After a romantic stroll along the beach, we toasted our getaway with chilled Chardonnay on the balcony.

I called all my girl friends to ensure they were suitably envious.

The waves were as blue and beautiful as the brochure promised – you don’t see surf like that on the Mississippi Coast. The beaches were pristine – maybe too pristine. It was a little like a Disney beach. I felt sorry for the kids combing for shells. There weren’t any.

So here’s what I did on my summer vacation:

I rode the waves, something I hadn’t done since I was in high school.

I caught up on my sleep.

I slathered on sunscreen and sat in the sun while critters crawled all over and around me. Not bugs. Zinc-nosed kids with sand pails. We were at one of those “family friendly” resorts where the families are not comprised of cats. I am so not a kid person.

I read Vogue on the beach. The fall fashion forecast is for pannier skirts, peplum suits and draped tuxedos. Several pina coladas on the balcony helped that news go down much better.

I went shopping during a summer afternoon thunderstorm.

I ate greasy pizza at a charmless dive sandwiched between an arcade and a go-cart track …

and soggy tacos under a poolside pavilion during a rainstorm ...

and salsa and chips. For breakfast. Lunch. And dinner.

Turns out the RGC is not the foodie I am. In fact he has to be forced to eat more than one meal a day. I felt like I was on a “cruise to lose” – without the ship.

Our "romantic" dinner al fresco turned out to be a 9 pm run to KFC's drive-thru, washed down with vintage champagne on the balcony while we watched “Batman” projected on the hotel next to ours, compliments of our family friendly resort.

No scallops. No flounder. But the company – and the champagne --were excellent . And I came home three pounds lighter – when’s the last time THAT happened on a vacation?

Best of all, I am home – a place full of cats and NO KIDS!

And I have the rest of the week off.

If I still have a craving for seafood (and I do), I can drive 80 miles to Biloxi and eat all I want while dabbling my toes in the surf-less brown waters of my home state. It may not be as pretty, but it does offer interesting beachcombing, especially since Katrina.

Sounds like the perfect summer vacation.