Birds of a Feather

Day one was a success. 

Even the travel was auspicious. In a matter of days, I went from being asked to clean toilets to sitting – quite unexpectedly – in first class, where I could feel the envy of all the common folk as they trudged by me to the back of the plane. Where I would be the first to sneer and tattle if one of them dared to sneak into our private quarters and try to use our exclusive potty. Clean toilets? Pshaw. I OWN that toilet.

The nicest thing about first class, besides the leg room, is getting off the plane first, particularly in Mexico, where nobody appears to be in any hurry. We whisked through immigration, watching gleefully as the throngs behind us took their positions in the line that would no doubt take hours to move. Seasoned visitors to Mexico, we grabbed our suitcases, relied on my daughter’s proven magic touch to press the button that would determine whether we would need to have our bags searched – man, she’s good – and managed to avoid the hundreds of sly and quite insistent time share sellers as we made our way to our waiting prepaid shuttle, which, miraculously, pulled away only half full just after we took our seats. Within an hour, we were at the pool, eating guacamole and getting down to the serious business of tanning.

My daughter has inherited my flea-like attention span, so it didn’t take long for us to tire of sitting around and we ventured off for our first of many walks along the beach. We are a potentially lethal combination – a premenopausal bitch and an almost sixteen year old girl. Each of us had dealt silently for several weeks with the fear that a week alone together, without friends or other siblings as buffers, could shatter the delicate balance we’ve worked so hard to maintain. But as we strolled along, squealing as the icy waves broke over our feet, laughing at the two skinny legged birds trying to run from the water each time it rushed up on the sand and wondering out loud why the hell they just didn’t use their wings and fly, we both knew it would be okay.

We allowed ourselves, without much protest, to be dragged into a football throwing contest by the very adorable too-old-for-her and way-too-young-for-me activity guys at the pool, and I was quite proud to see how she could use her charm to secure a promise of a prize (a tee shirt, folks, just a tee shirt) from the really cute one even though some ringer came in at the last minute and beat her. That’s my girl! He’s even tossing one in for me. I batted my eyes at him but I don’t think he noticed.

As we stumbled into bed at nine o’clock, we high fived each other and officially proclaimed day one to have been a success. Sometimes we both forget that we have wings. Silly birds. This week, we will remember to use them.