I have an idea.
Let’s get a credit card. Doesn’t really matter what since someone else is gonna pay it off.
Let’s board a plane and fly somewhere beautiful.
Like the British Virgin Islands, perhaps.
We’d be sure to pick up enough food to keep us going for a week. Fresh island foods. Fish to grill.
We’d wake up in the morning to the sun rising over the bay. Breakfast on the veranda– coffee, and fruit, and eggs.
We’d while away the mornings reading by the pool. When the sun is too hot, we’d drop ourselves into the pool and lap about, splashing.
Lunch is eaten half wrapped in towels. We probably have hot, damp sex that smells like tanned skin.
In the afternoon we walk the beach. We stop to admire the way the sand sparkles in the sun. Our feet skim the shallows.
Hunger, and the taste of crisp white wine, drives our wander home. The sun is setting over the bay as the smoke from the grill drifts into the air.
The bed waits.
We don’t close any doors.
We never worry about how to pay.
Never feel guilty for what we’re “missing” in our lives “back home.”