Back From Vacation, Part III

Of course, one of the downsides of the cruise was the size of the cabin.  And the fact that there were four of us in it.

 

In case you're wondering what 100 square feet looks like, this is it.  And if you're wondering how there's enough storage for four peoples' stuff in a 100 square feet, you can now stop.  There clearly isn't.  One of the best parts of sharing a cabin is keeping kids' hours.  So, on our vacation, we woke up with the dawn and went to sleep at 8.  It's true. 

Our cabin steward often hadn't had time to turn down our beds, fold our towelagami animals or place little mints on our pillows.  But there we were, trudging back to the room, ready for beddy bye in the vomit closet.

Twice, we woke up before the Lido Deck trough even opened.  And you KNOW that Lido deck is nearly 24 hours per day. 

One night, of the ten, I thought it would be mighty fun to go hear the pianist do his Neil Diamond night.  I was already all tucked in.  Make-up was off.  Spanx released.  Jammies on.  The show started at 9.  That's practically the middle of the night.

My family prods me to go.  Alone.  M stayed with the kids in bed.  I threw on some jeans (but it's formal night!) and trotted on out to get me some Sweet Caroline. 

The keyboardist on board was pretty good, by cruise ship standards.  By any standards, really--I mean what are our expectations of a lounge singer?  He was a very good lounge singer.  He looked hilarious, though.  Like a Hawaiian Wayne Newton.  He sounded like Wayne Newton, a little, too.  That soft, gentle voice. 

At the piano bar at 9 pm, it was happy hour.  Naturally. It's always happy hour somewhere on the ship.  2 for 1 martinis.  It's like the gods conspired to figure out what I love.  Had there been free chocolate chip cookies in there, it would be a trifecta of happiness.  I got myself 2 martinis and secured a chair.
Which was, shockingly, not easy.  The place was jammed (at 9 pm!) and eventually I surrendered my prized seat to a woman with one of those walker thingies.  My dad once quoted something, (that I would cite if I could, but am clearly not laying claim to saying it) that a cruise is like taking a vacation with the elderly and their parents.  The Piano Bar certainly lent credibility to that.

After a few rousing post-war tunes to celebrate geriatric anniversaries, our pianist started with some good, quality Neil Diamond.  I know nearly every word to nearly every classic Neil Diamond song up until the early 90s.  And I have a terrible voice.  But after 2 quick martinis, I care not about the voice and care very much about belting out a little "I Am, I Said."

The thing was, nobody in the bar was having any fun.  Or maybe they were and their arthritis prohibited them from showing it.  A few were toe tapping--is that old people enthusiasm?   Nobody clapped along to the beat, some people chatted through the music, and nobody, but NOBODY (except me) echoed AMERICA! with a little irony.

Eventually, a woman companion to an antique approached me with a conspiratorial smile, "I think we bring down the average age in here by 30 years."  I nodded.  One does not talk during Diamond.

"I love this music."  I nodded again.  Apparently not that much or she'd not talk over it.

"You might be the only person my age on this ship," she said.  I looked at her.  To paraphrase "Due Date," (which I promise not to do too often) she was the most shot out 36 year old I'd ever seen. 

"How old are YOU?"  I asked. 

"Fifty two."

Yeah.  That's why we don't talk during Diamond.  Eventually, the pianist noticed that I was the ONLY one singing along (I'm sure he heard me) and the only one who was really excited about the whole theme night in general, and he asked me what I wanted to hear for the finale.

"Love on the Rocks."

I had my love on the rocks, my drinks neat, and my ego severely damaged.  Staying up past 9 is highly overrated.