25 January 2011


My brother had one of these “destination weddings” where you run off to some tropical paradise and get married. Marriage – who needs that! Oh, right – but that’s another topic for another time.

So, my soon to be sister-in-law and her mom started planning for this “destination wedding” at a Caribbean resort. Let’s be honest: I was up for an excuse to go to a Caribbean resort. At least I was until I heard it was a couples resort. Let’s do head count - there was my brother and his fiancé, then my parents and her parents, but that left me …. and her brother. Uh-huh, you guessed it: I was rooming with her brother … at a couples resort … in the Caribbean.

Ah, her brother. He wasn’t that tall but carried himself like he was six foot, dark hair with these deep brown eyes and a nice dimple on the right side. Tanned from working outside on his family’s farm, but without the farmers tan – too much time without his shirt on I guess! He had that lanky look of a farm boy – thin enough to see a six-pack but not so thin you wanted to feed him a sandwich. Since he chewed, he carried the pungent aroma of Skoal over his Old Spice deodorant and aftershave. Never figured out the aftershave, though; his baby face failed to grow much beyond peach fuzz. This was the guy I would be rooming with …at a couples resort … in the Caribbean.

In any case, we got to the resort and I ain’t never seen such opulence. Everything was just … amazing! We all checked-in and the “couples” headed to their separate rooms. Since my soon to be sister-in-law and her mom made the reservations, the room was in his name – Mr. Jack Smith. Yeah, yeah, yeah: I was more concerned about getting down to the beach – we were there for less than a week and part of that would be tied up doing wedding stuff.

Well, he and I got to the room – a bit much on the mushy romantic stuff. Unfortunately, he found the note before I do. The resort kindly provided a welcome packet – with a personalized note – addressed to Mr. Jack Smith and Ms. Rusty Peters. Outwardly, we both got a nice chuckle out of the “misunderstanding.” Inwardly, I’m thought, “Where’s the damn minibar?” and hoped they’d have something strong.

So we all spent the day slowly getting drunk on the beach – not a bad life I must admit. After lounging and drinking until the wee hours of the night, we all retired to our respective rooms. So, Mr. Jack Smith and Ms. Rusty Peters retired to their room. We stumbled back to the room and into the bed. C’mon, there was only one – what did you expect? He passed out and I thought: “This sucks.” Then, I smiled and laughed out loud. Out of his drunk stupor, he asked “What’s so funny?” I told him nothing, but kept chuckling.

Point of the conversation: The problem isn’t that straight guys suck, but that they don’t.

- Rusty Peters

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