Bootie Experience
Very early this morning - 0730 - Hans and I picked up our neoprene booties and flippers to bring on the cruise. We have our own snorkels and masks so we're all set.
I have a story about the neoprene booties.
A few years ago we first rented snorkelling equipment to take along on our cruise. We're on St. Thomas and Hans had arranged to spend the day golfing. Favourite Dotter and I took a shuttle taxi to Coki Beach. Before we left the ship, we did as instructed and wore our neoprene booties in lieu of sandals. This was, after all, one of their advantages. You can walk with them on asphalt and beach sand and then when it's time to snorkel, you slip your bootie clad food into the flipper and voila, you're set to go.
A cursory glance in the awkward mirror in our cabin showed that my blue cotton dress was long enough to just barely cover the tops of my booties which came about 4" up my leg. They're not very attractive and I muttered about it. But Favourite Dotter, who was in shorts and consequently looked much better in her booties, said I looked fine and who cared anyway? I was never going to see these people again.
That should have been my first clue.
We spent a terrific morning snorkeling our hearts out. Bone weary, we realized that if we hustled we had just enough time to get back to the ship's dining room for an elegant lunch. But time was tight. If you don't get into the dining room before 2:00 you have to eat on the buffet deck. That's fine, but buffets are available in every city and town on the planet. Fine dining, however, with crisp white linens, sparkling stemware and attentive waiters... well, that's less abundant. And I like it.
I threw my dress on over my wet bathing suit, fluffed up my salt crusted permed hair, and sprinted for the shuttle with FD hot on my heels. Laughing, tired, sand stuck to every pore, we piled into the shuttle. But the shuttle driver wouldn't leave until we had brushed off, lecturing us the whole while about desecrating her shuttle with drying sand flaking from our legs.
Finally, our mean shuttle driver dropped us off at a point well distanced from the ship. I wanted to smack her but there was no time. FD and I ran to the ship and arrived at the dining room doors in good time. As always, we were politely greeted at the door and escorted to join a physician couple who had arrived shortly before us.
They looked me up and down and I realized that my bathing suit had leached through the thin cotton. Specifically, the tips of my breasts were now highlighted by two circular wet spots. I realized my butt must also be sporting an enormous wet spot but I hoped they hadn't seen it. I assumed my hair and face looked okay. They didn't. Later, I saw that my smile had left crusty salt trails on my cheeks. And my
hair... it didn't look okay at all. It had dried and was unattractively frizzy like only a perm can be.
I further noticed that while my initial impression had been that the hem of my dress covered my bootie tops, in reality it did no such thing. The hem came a good 3" above the top of my black neoprene booties.
I still laugh when I think about how I looked. And earlier when I wrote that FD said I'd never see these people again? I hope I don't. I'll be wearing the same outfit this year and I think they might remember me.
I have a story about the neoprene booties.
A few years ago we first rented snorkelling equipment to take along on our cruise. We're on St. Thomas and Hans had arranged to spend the day golfing. Favourite Dotter and I took a shuttle taxi to Coki Beach. Before we left the ship, we did as instructed and wore our neoprene booties in lieu of sandals. This was, after all, one of their advantages. You can walk with them on asphalt and beach sand and then when it's time to snorkel, you slip your bootie clad food into the flipper and voila, you're set to go.
A cursory glance in the awkward mirror in our cabin showed that my blue cotton dress was long enough to just barely cover the tops of my booties which came about 4" up my leg. They're not very attractive and I muttered about it. But Favourite Dotter, who was in shorts and consequently looked much better in her booties, said I looked fine and who cared anyway? I was never going to see these people again.
That should have been my first clue.
We spent a terrific morning snorkeling our hearts out. Bone weary, we realized that if we hustled we had just enough time to get back to the ship's dining room for an elegant lunch. But time was tight. If you don't get into the dining room before 2:00 you have to eat on the buffet deck. That's fine, but buffets are available in every city and town on the planet. Fine dining, however, with crisp white linens, sparkling stemware and attentive waiters... well, that's less abundant. And I like it.
I threw my dress on over my wet bathing suit, fluffed up my salt crusted permed hair, and sprinted for the shuttle with FD hot on my heels. Laughing, tired, sand stuck to every pore, we piled into the shuttle. But the shuttle driver wouldn't leave until we had brushed off, lecturing us the whole while about desecrating her shuttle with drying sand flaking from our legs.
Finally, our mean shuttle driver dropped us off at a point well distanced from the ship. I wanted to smack her but there was no time. FD and I ran to the ship and arrived at the dining room doors in good time. As always, we were politely greeted at the door and escorted to join a physician couple who had arrived shortly before us.
They looked me up and down and I realized that my bathing suit had leached through the thin cotton. Specifically, the tips of my breasts were now highlighted by two circular wet spots. I realized my butt must also be sporting an enormous wet spot but I hoped they hadn't seen it. I assumed my hair and face looked okay. They didn't. Later, I saw that my smile had left crusty salt trails on my cheeks. And my
hair... it didn't look okay at all. It had dried and was unattractively frizzy like only a perm can be.
I further noticed that while my initial impression had been that the hem of my dress covered my bootie tops, in reality it did no such thing. The hem came a good 3" above the top of my black neoprene booties.
I still laugh when I think about how I looked. And earlier when I wrote that FD said I'd never see these people again? I hope I don't. I'll be wearing the same outfit this year and I think they might remember me.
Comments
God those neoprene booties were UGLY! But effective!
FD