Ah, the return to civilization. It’s never pretty, is it? That forced detox when the bourbon doesn’t come three times a day (although to be honest, the first drink of the day was generally vodka as we never made it to the brunch that serves a bourbon bloody Mary, and I did love the gin-focused Verde Intuition). The reinstatement of (moderately) healthy eating when you don’t have the Frieze ice cream within walking distance and friends who egg you on to consuming obscene quantities of food. The end of daily pool frolics and free nightly babysitting.
Highlights from the trip? Too many to list them all. The Seaquarium.
Little girl spa day. Big girl spa day. Grown-up dinner. Sushi night.
The rooftop deck of the hotel Adam and I escaped to for the night. Beach.
Pool. Seeing friends I haven’t seen in close to a decade. Gin. Champagne. Vodka. Wine. Bourbon. Duck fat fries. Fried chicken.
The boy had fun getting to use the tools in his Nana’s art studio.
I proved I’m old by going to the diviest bar in Miami Beach and getting into an argument with a friend about… semicolons. Adam discovered an app that let him control the bar jukebox from his phone. I don’t think I’ve seen him that excited since he discovered bourbon. We ate at a new restaurant, Yardbird, which Adam had been reluctant to try. He ended up eating there three times in four days (even going alone one of those days, his hankering for chicken and bourbon was so mighty). I learned what a “food baby” is (thanks to Tuna’s “My food baby hurts”; you thought I had forgotten about that, didn’t you Teener?).
It’s 21 degrees out it’s almost dark at 4:20 p.m. We don’t make it easy for ourselves, getting home around 3:30 and having to return to a full day of school/dance/Hebrew school/Cub Scouts at 8:15 the next morning.
Here’s a New Year’s resolution for you: I resolve next year to not come back from our trip to Miami Beach.
Sigh. Next year in Miami Beach.