Greetings from the Real World House

Where the injuries keep stacking up.

So far there's been the badminton incident, a rubber ball to the ribs, and a water balloon to the groin. All injuries have been caused by Hubby and I'm afraid to see what's going to happen now that he, the youngest SIL, and all the boys on the trip are out deep sea fishing as I type.

To say our living quarters are small would be inaccurate. When you have 10 full-sized people in a cottage that only has two actual bedrooms plus a loft and one little full bathroom, the situation turns into fucking small.* When figure in that half the people are girls with that majority being girlie**, the whole thing becomes a comedy act.

Besides the injuries, there's been minor drama. If this was The Real World Cape Cod, it would be the drama that hasn't reached the pinnacle where one person is grumbling about it to the other, but before the season reached it's zenith, everything would be laid out and the fighting would be massive. Name calling and punching would definitely be center stage.

Since I'm not a reality TV star, I'm okay with this not happening. I'm pretty content reading in a corner or walking for coffee. (The beach hasn't even called to me, though I've been there twice - once to actually go and once to rescue a crab from death.) And to be honest, I don't think I'd want to see what would go down if we were in a reality show.

I'm heading back into vacationland where the to be read pile is dwindling just a bit and the internet is spotty as ever. Soon enough I'll be back among the living where there's office politics, cats, and queries and partials to email.

*This is the best I could do with no coffee. Bear with me.
** As opposed to yours truly who considers it a feat if more than a minute is spent on the hair.
Vacation song of the day: Let's Kill the Hero by Gunfire 76