I get used to the sea-bands around my wrists after the first few hours. I'm not sure if they actually work or if I'm just getting used to the fact that I'm living on a couple thousand tons of metal precariously balanced on the choppy waters of the Gulf of Mexico, but I'm feeling better. I refuse to even consider Dramamine. To take any kind of medicine may impede my drinking.
This cruise was the result of a compromise. My wife wanted a globetrotting adventure. I wanted tacky, tourist-y bullshit because I'm an overgrown child. An ocean voyage to Cozumel, Grand Cayman, and Jamaica felt like meeting each other halfway. She gets to see amazing sights and incredible beaches. I get to play mini-golf.
But right now, we're just sitting on chairs, sipping drinks and reading books and staring at the impossibly blue ocean. By this point, I've reached the Mai Tai on my personal list of "Tropical Drinks That Should Be Consumed While Sailing On A Boat" and it's good. Well, the first one was okay. But the fifth one? That one is prettay, prettay, prettay good. For whatever reason, rum agrees with me more than any other liquor, which means I can down these things like nobody's business. Sure, the bartender doesn't even try to hide the fact that she's just pouring a bunch of rum into a pre-made mix, but the important part of the sentence is the part involving a bunch of rum.
Soon, I'm tipsy enough to willingly get food at the Guy Fieri burger restaurant onboard the ship. The forces of dining providence punish me when I stumble, headfirst, into the precariously low, oversized, bottle-cap shaped sign above the line to get inside.sources
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