Every now and then, when I should be catching some Zs but my brain has other plans, I find myself scrolling through Pinterest. I search for dreamy pins for my “Escapes” board, exploring far-off places that promise blissful retreats. These destinations often seem fit for former presidents wanting to unwind and escape the chaos of their former lives—not exactly fitting my budget. But once I come back down to reality, I realize I’m okay with that.
A stunning beach sounds heavenly, complete with turquoise waters and a lavish cabana. I can picture myself sipping rum mixed with juice straight from a coconut. But the thought of shaving my legs and dealing with waxing in, let’s say, less-than-friendly areas? No thanks. Plus, the agony of trying on swimsuits and kaftans—ugh! And let’s not even talk about sand in those sensitive areas.
With all the hassles of vacationing, is it really a vacation at all? People often complain about needing a holiday after their holiday because let’s face it, traveling can be a real headache. There’s the planning, the packing, and the actual travel experience—an ordeal you endure twice! Not to mention the pre-trip appointments to make sure you look perfect for strangers you’ll never see again.
Throw in kids and/or a spouse? Suddenly, a getaway turns into a more complicated version of daily life, but with a schedule full of activities and none of the comforts of home.
My Ideal Vacation
My ideal vacation? It’s a far cry from this chaos. Picture me, just me. I might make an exception for human interaction when I need room service, but apart from that, I’m good. I don’t need a fancy resort—just a mid-range hotel in some business park, as long as there are zero bed bug reports.
A room with blackout curtains would be ideal so I can block out the world for a full day of napping and not worry about anyone catching me in my pajama pants. Sure, I may seem low-maintenance, but I do have some requirements. A clean bathroom is a must; if the last guest met an untimely end in the shower, I’d prefer not to witness the aftermath. The smell of bleach is a welcome aroma—just the right amount to feel fresh without needing to open a window.
And even though I’m solo, a king-sized bed is non-negotiable. I want to experience what it’s like to sleep without a small foot wedged between my face and upper lip. Also, a complimentary breakfast is essential—none of that stale pastry nonsense. A waffle maker is a must-have, plus a fridge and microwave in my room so I can stash my second breakfast and heat it up post-nap.
Aside from my waffle excursions, I won’t be stepping outside my room. Even if I leave my family with a fake hotel contact to avoid interruptions, I’m still disconnecting the phone so the front desk can’t disturb my bliss with noise complaints. I’m finally in charge of the remote, free to indulge in shows overflowing with violence, swearing, and everything else I can’t enjoy when little ears are around.
Along with the fake hotel info, I’ll leave my family a note saying I won’t be back until the kitchen is spotless, the bathrooms don’t smell like a swamp, and the bedrooms aren’t a total mess. This is my getaway, not theirs. I won’t let them think they can slack off just because I’m away. I might even toss in some baking suggestions for when I return.
As I lounge diagonally on my vast bed, likely snack-covered and blissfully unclothed, I’ll take a moment to mentally thank my family for this much-needed escape. If they didn’t drive me a little bonkers now and then, I wouldn’t have felt the urge to pack a bag, give my partner a quick high-five, and bolt from the house with both middle fingers raised. Then, I’ll return to indulging in Oreos that are all mine while binge-watching HBO.
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Summary
This humorous piece reflects on the author’s desire for a solo vacation away from family responsibilities, detailing the necessary comforts and freedoms she craves. It paints a vivid picture of the challenges of family travel versus the bliss of personal time away.