Excuse me, dahrlings, but...

Doesn’t Anyone Care If I Get My Slice Of Paradise?

What on earth is going on with the way some heavily starred resorts are treating our unsuspecting sun seeking flabby white clients, Pumpkins?

I am still recovering from a slap across the belly with a dead fish recently encountered at a 5* AI when I came across another fab example of a resort putting their best hospitality foot forward. Beaches Turks & Caicos thought it a perfectly reasonable idea to lock guests out of all the pools and shoo them off the beach – for 4 days – while a swimsuit photo shoot took place. (Why nobody asked me to pose, I’ll never know.)

“All chairs were removed, chained and locked, beaches and restaurants were closed, and helicopters flew noisily 100 feet overhead while swimsuit models occupied the property, floating in the pools, for 4 days.”

At least it made me feel like I was not the only one whose purchase was relegated to 1* relevance.

Anyhoo, more about Me... you might wonder why I would even consider a mainstream market vacay given my proclivity for high end indulgences, but you see – I was only trying to help. I over-enthusiastically and perhaps a titch over-inebriatedly attempted to trick another WinterBoob’er into buying a sun package donated to last year’s (and the last ever apparently) Breast Cancer fundraiser by ramping up the bidding war... only to be left holding the voucher. Aaarrrrgghhhh – a week in paradise among the massive masses would have to be endured. But, really how bad could that be... let me count the ways.

The room... communist era decor circa 1962 and adjacent to the kiddy pool. And if shabby wasn’t cruel enough... everything mechanical was out to get me... from the toilet to the TV automatically timed to wake me up at 3 a.m. I solved that one by drinking until 3:05 and then going to bed... where there’s a will, there’s a way!

But, when I asked the front desk “don’t you know who I am??” and suggested they might at least consider moving me to a room for adults – or even one with functioning parts - I was met with a shrug and advised I was getting what I paid for, gracias very much. [All this, while dinkette Numero Uno or Dos, who knows, was sipping champers down the beach at her all indulgent all inclusive. I really don’t like those 2 women.)

My point, dahrling dahrlings, is that we promise an orgasmic beach experience in full colour, full bleed, full gloss, brochures. And we then deliver bupkis on a bun? There's something wrong with this picture.

If nothing else, it was certainly a lesson in humility, Pumpkins, and, goodness knows, I had to get that off my chest. It’s left me feeling rather hollow though... must call my plastic surgeon. 

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