AM.
Slightly weary this a.m. The whole gang went to Chang’s last night and ordered about a thousand things. I tried to get away with broccoli and tofu but they were having none of it, so I gave in and snaffled all sorts of vege stuff. And what is a holiday without EATING YOURSELF HALF TO DEATH? Rotund, we waddle back to the hotel and have a little party in my room. I am an amazing hostess, offering Hersheys milk chocolate drops in a bowl as dessert! Genius! Then, utterly inspired, I whip out some Reece’s Pieces. What a riot! We all go to bed groaning with caloric surplus.
I wake up to discover that walking the 5km to and from the restaurant in heels has shredded my ankle tendons, or something, and going for a jog feels distinctly crap. I paddle about anyway, to burn off dinner, in Ala Moana Park. Every 30 meters there is a homeless person. We do not see this at home, in our white bread cookie cutter existence, and it’s always a bit of a shock. I shoot my beachy run pic and skip back to the hotel, enclave of a different world.
Then we have the doing of laundry, booking of turtle sighting tour, and watching of All Blacks. This puts everybody in a bad mood. I sit in the aircon, calming my central nervous system for the afternoon assault on beach, pool and that death on a stick for credit cards, the Ala Moana Centre. Nordstrom, I’m coming baby…
Auntie Carrie 