This show became very relevant to me over Spring Break. This year, we negotiated our plans with our teenage daughter, who wanted to hang with her friends rather than her family. So, we were faced with two choices.
Door Number One: Our regular haunt, my oasis, a remote island, accessible only by ferry, drivable only by golf carts, and about as quiet and peaceful as you can achieve without being unconscious. Zen Momma, Tragically Depressed Daughter.
Door Number Two: Party Island, my daughter's perfect place, where people walk up and down the highway in thongs and fanny packs, while cars and rented scooters litter the streets like lice on an urchin child's head, and the sounds of police sirens and stereo bass bounce you right out of bed. Manic Momma, Blissfully Joyful Daughter.
Guess where we went?
Needless to say, my daughter and I had two different vacations.
Here was what was behind my door:
|The view from our house - Dusty's Oyster Bar. We could sit on our front porch and listen to the melody of the intercom system calling for Butler, party of four.|
|The local floral and fauna in our yard ...|
|That appeared to reproduce over night ...|
|This is either a jelly fish or a breast implant.|
|Gloomy fog or a pot cloud? You decide.|
|Woke up one day to this booby trap - |
little brother was getting real tired of his sister's sh*t.
Here was what was behind my daughter's door:
|Pretty beaches to walk, lots of new friends to meet.|
|Fun in the surf|
|Restful afternoons in the ENO|
So who was the big winner? Well, surprisingly, we all were. My daughter had the time of her life, I received some free shock-treatment, and we all came home in one piece with rosier cheeks. Looking ahead to future vacations, I am happy to report that while Panama City Beach will forever be an asterisk in our Spring Break story, I'm confident that there is a happy medium between isolation and the 9th circle of hell. At least I hope so, and I have an entire year to find it.
Until next time, keep crowin' and stick with Door Number One!