On Vacation With The Wound

Mr. Man and I have opposing views of what exactly is meant by the word, "vacation." For me, a reduced level of activity from the normal business- say, lounging by the pool all day- is what comes to mind. For him, vacation simply indicates more free time to cram full of activities. A sunrise to sunset packed schedule of sight-seeing, hiking, and biking, while eating in the car between stops to save time, is his ideal vacation.

So clearly we have some issues when trying to plan our vacations. We've both made compromises. I am willing to "do stuff" and not sit around all day, but he has to scale back his plans by about half. Usually this happens organically. When he wakes me up in the morning with the 15-item list of things to do that day, instead of yelling, "Are you freaking nuts?!" I merely hope we won't get to more than three and make myself say, "It sounds like we have a lot of fun options." 

On our recent trip to Hawaii, the usual breakneck pace was somewhat stymied by an unexpected traveling companion. On the evening of our first full day there, we had just rented snorkel gear and headed back to the hotel to clean up. Of course, Mr. Man can't have snorkel gear in his possession and not use it every single chance he gets, so despite the fact that the sun was setting, he headed out to the beach. I stayed by the pool to enjoy what might have been the only quiet moment of the trip.

A very short while later, Mr. Man came back and told me he was headed up to the room and would be right back. Something seemed off. He was a bit too serious, I thought, but I was enjoying the down-time and so I just watched him walk off. A half hour later when he still wasn't back I grabbed two Mai Tais at the bar and headed back to our room.

And that's when I found them. Mr.  Man was in the bathtub running water all over his new friend, The Wound. He was on the phone practically bragging to a nurse about the wound's massive physical characteristics, using words like, "gaping" and "girth." I drank my Mai Tai, perhaps too quickly. Trying to be hospitable, I called the hotel first aid to see if there were some local options for The Wound. Despite my efforts, The Wound insisted that we cancel our dinner reservations and go to the emergency room in the next town. While absorbing the possibilities for the week, I drank my husband's Mai Tai, too.

Four stitches and two hours later, The Wound was still with us. The doctor told us to keep The Wound away from the pool, "a toilet for children" and the ocean, "the bathroom to many animals."  Goodbye pool, goodbye snorkeling. The doctor also told us to avoid prolonged strenuous muscle activity. Goodbye 10 mile all-day hikes. (This was perhaps The Wound's only redeeming quality.)

Practically tied to my husband's knee, The Wound was very presumptious. Crawling right into bed with us that first night, The Wound yelped anytime I got anywhere near it, making snuggling (and everything else) much less enjoyable.

By day, The Wound made my husband limp like an old man whenever he walked around town or climbed the stairs. The doctor was right about the hikes, though. Every time we went on any short hike, The Wound seemed to disappear. Climb two miles uphill and The Wound vanished. Yet the minute we walked back to the car, and The Wound was there to greet us, limp, limp, limp.

Despite all this, I think my husband was actually fond of The Wound. He talked about The Wound constantly, and if I didn't inquire about The Wound's health each day, he seemed a little offended. I on the other hand, was growing more resentful but the day. I had hoped that having The Wound might encourage Mr. Man to enjoy a more slow-paced vacation. Instead it was like hauling an intemperate two-year-old around on errands. I could never tell if The Wound would be helpful or annoying.

Since we returned home, The Wound has been a much less obtrusive guest. Mr. Man is slowly letting go and has even begun to go bike riding without his dear friend. In a few short days, the ghastly visitor should be gone for good. 

I loved Hawaii, but man, do I dislike The Wound.

Comments

[Jen]

A vision of the R.E.M. video for "Losing My Religion" just popped into my head while I was reading your account -- the part lifted from a Caravaggio painting where all the old men are standing around fingering the hole in Jesus' side...

[Marlo]

Sorry to hear about The Wound. Mr. Man's definition of "vacation" is exactly like my dear husband's. Maybe they're related. :-)

[MaryanneHaynes]

If you are willing to buy a car, you would have to receive the loans. Furthermore, my father usually uses a small business loan, which is really firm.