Coffee and Edible Underwear

They told me I'd love it. They lied.

What I do love is to wake up at 6:30, not 7, not 6, but precisely 6:30. I love the smell of freshly brewed coffee, exactly six cups, enough for my wife and me – no wasted coffee. My coffee must contain 100 grams of vanilla caramel creamer, 20 grams of half and half, and 21 grams of honey (for my allergies). Sometimes, I go over by two or three grams, and that's okay, but I'll dump the corrupted drink if it's any higher. That's what I love.

I don't love line dancing. Stan and Sally, our cabin neighbors, swore I'd love it. The towel boy swore I'd love it, too, although I don't remember asking him. My wife refused to give her vote because she's an intelligent woman.

There must have been something in the ocean air and the soothing movement of the ship that hypnotized me. I allowed Stan and Sally to pull me out onto the floor. At first, everyone was laughing and having a good time until I slid left when I was supposed to slide right. I knocked a teenage girl right off her feet. It was a textbook tackle. The laughter ceased, and I heard a scream. The DJ didn't notice the commotion, so the music continued, but those around the girl stopped dancing and were trying to help her. I also tried to help but was pushed out of the way, as if the crowd was trying to protect her.

The next morning, the Captain assured my wife and me that the girl was alright—there were a few bruises, but nothing broken.

We were supposed to play Hearts with Stan and Sally, but they never showed. We saw very little of them for the remainder of our cruise. I thought nothing of it, however my wife gave me the cold shoulder. She said it was my fault that she had no friends.

I woke up on day three of our five-day cruise at 6:17, which didn't feel right. My wife wouldn't let me set an alarm, and the sun was all wrong. She was still asleep, so I quietly exited the room and walked around the deck. Her words bothered me. I wanted to make it up to her somehow. While walking, I came across a lovely couple close to our age and struck up a conversation. We hit it off big. They laughed at all my jokes and seemed eager to meet my wife. So, I invited them to join us for dinner.

The conversation over dinner was effortless and fun. Tom and Jody were full of stories and mentioned several times how they love to play games. I sensed my wife's shoulders beginning to warm. Not only did I find some friends, but I also found friends who were as into games as we were.

After dinner, they invited us to their cabin to play. I suggested the coffee shop, but they insisted we'd be more comfortable in their room. I shrugged. They must have one of those fancy cabins with a table and sitting area. We discovered they did not have a fancy cabin with a table and sitting area when we arrived.

Okay, I admit I never saw it coming. How was I supposed to know what kind of game they had in mind? I was thinking of Bridge or Hearts, not swapping wives and sex toys. My wife's cold shoulder froze colder than an iceberg—an iceberg in Antarctica—no worse than that. An iceberg in Antarctica in the middle of winter, before global warming.

She told me it was the most embarrassing thing ever. I couldn't argue. It was number one on my list as well. When Tom came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but edible underwear, I thought we'd both faint. My army training kicked in, and I remained calm. My wife did not. She screamed like Kermit the Frog running from Doc Hopper and ran through the cabin door. It must have been partially open because I didn't notice any damage when I excused myself, explaining that we like our pineapples right side up.

For the remainder of our cruise, I slept on the only chair in our cabin. It wasn't designed to be slept on—heck, it wasn't designed to be sat on. My wife wouldn't let me leave her side while we went about the ship. If it weren't for the fact that we paid so much money for this cruise, I believe she would have stayed in bed until we disembarked. She purchased the biggest hat and darkest sunglasses she could find and never went out without them.

I found the whole misunderstanding funny but was wise enough to keep it to myself. We ended up spending our last day laying out. Unfortunately, we both fell asleep. When the towel boy awakened us, the sun had done its damage. I'm naturally a dark-skinned person. However, my wife is pure white. I mean, she was pure white. Now she's red except for her face. Her oversized hat provided shade. That could have been a good thing. However, the hat wasn't solid. It had tiny holes between the weaves. Her face looked like a bad case of measles that had exploded in angry red spots. It took every fiber of my being to keep from laughing. The towel boy saw her and ran with his hand over his mouth. As soon as he rounded the corner, we heard a guffaw that would have startled the monkey who hears no evil.

We made it home without any additional tribulations. We crashed into bed without unpacking. My alarm went off at 6:30. I filled the coffee machine with six cups of water. I placed my cup of coffee on my scale and weighed 100 grams of vanilla caramel creamer, added 20 grams of half and half, and 21 grams of honey. Life was good again. My wife joined me, and we sat in silence. Her spotted sunburned face was beginning to peel. We sipped our coffee and stared out the kitchen window. We didn't have to say it. We both knew our cruising days were over. We also knew our routine marriage would survive because we were both too traumatized to imagine changing anything ever again.