I want to be one of those perpetually nice people. Really I do. But it doesn’t seem like it’s going to work out that way.
Our last trip was to Kiawah Island. We landed at 11:30 pm in Charleston. Charleston hates me, by the way. The one other time I’ve been here we flew in slightly ahead of a hurricane with enough turbulence to last me a lifetime. Then the driver got lost and couldn’t find our hotel. Then the hotel didn’t have any electricity.
But I digress. This time there was no driver. We waited around until midnight, then convinced another driver to abandon his rider and take us to the hotel. We arrived at the check-in desk around 1 am – behind six other people, one of who was trying to change rooms because he had no hot water.
I’m reading a book by Fannie Flagg and one of the characters is a perpetually happy person. Hazel convinces her friends to take belly dancing lessons and then to march in a local parade. She sounds like fun. Hazel sounds like someone I want to be like.
Instead, I’m like my Grandmother Nellie. I spent the trip sighing, moaning and mumbling nasty remarks under my breath.
Evidently embodying Grandmother Nellie burns a lot of calories because I woke up the next morning starving. Our villa was a ten minute walk to a restaurant and we came across this sign along the way. My husband kindly pointed out that with my bad attitude he thought the alligators were the ones in danger. I decided to be Hazel and let him live.