Sunburnt. Waterlogged. We were beat. There was no way we could go out. But we had 8:30 reservations at the fancy VIP Restaurant in the complex, and how could we turn down a full-service dinner? It was pretty fantastic, especially the lobster, but I think we were just too wiped to appreciate it. Or maybe too spoiled. Either way, we made it a quiet night at home, sipping mineral water, cooling our sunburns, and smoking Cohibas.
At some point in the middle of the night, the need to snack reared its ugly head, so J and I took the golf cart out to the all-night Beach Club to pick up some munchies. We knocked back a couple of Presidentes while waiting for our order to be ready, overhearing the conversation of a group of fratboys. We figured they’d immersed themselves in an all-inclusive stupor. J guessed they’d never “left the reservation.” Our suspicions were confirmed when they were talking about rumors of people being drugged and having their kidneys stolen after leaving the confines of the resort.
When our order was up, we giddily walked back across the beach to our golf cart with a hot stack of burgers. As we left, J wished the fratboys, “Good luck with your kidneys.”
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