My Cardboard Balcony

From Kauai With Love by Belinda Roddie Maybe it's the bourbon or the sirloin steak doing wonders to my brain and my belly, but I feel like dancing in the tropical rain along the shore, the sand caught between my toes like each grain has finally found a proper bed to sleep in. And maybe it's the coffee liqueur with whipped cream that I slurped after our meal was done, but I'm both wired and tipsy enough to make you twirl with me by the pikake pool. Three days since we touched down on this lush, green island, and though the sweat's streamed from the bridges of our noses, we've braved the humidity long enough to find the fun and beauty in what people view as a "natural paradise." And Hell, maybe it's because of Sammy Hagar's yowling from that Van Halen song I listened to nonstop last time I was here - when I was thirteen and watching the sunset from the balcony - but I don't mind a little more music with you. The thrum

When I returned from the islands with my husband, I began to feel as if something had come back with us. I told Sean this, and he just laughed and kissed me right where my stubble was growing in, and he told me that nothing was going to haunt us - we were too cute for that. Still, I became a little bit wary when I went into the bathroom in the middle of the night three days after our vacation, only to hear a whisper from the shower: "Do you guys have better shampoo? This doesn't work for my frizz."