Beware TO Alligators

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.