The details have been ironed out and the deposits paid – we’re going to Cuba in May.
I’m excited. I’ve never been on a tropical vacation before, and neither has Ed. There’s a group of us going, and we’ll be there for a whole week. That’s a lot of communist sun to soak up, and I’m ready for it. I bought a Kindle so I can sit and read, and when that gets boring, I’ve been told I can rent a scooter and ride around looking for treasure. It’ll be an adventure in every sense of the word, and I am really looking forward to it.
I do have a minor concern about the trip – a niggling little worry that, if I let it, will turn into a full-blown panic attack. It’s not the flight or safety or the resort – those things will be fine. I’m not even all that concerned about our cats or home; we have A Plan. No, I’m trying hard not to freak out about something much more important:
Do they have Diet Coke in Cuba?
Everyone else is excited about drinking mojitos on the beach until they can’t stand up. This holds little interest to me – I don’t drink, and I like standing up. While I’m sure there will be a number of non-alcoholic options available, I’m really only interested in one: I drink Diet Coke. That’s it. I’ll drink water if there’s nothing else available, but everything I’ve read says to avoid water and ice cubes. What the hell am I going to do? I need my Diet Coke! It’s my caffeine, my best friend, my secret lover! I can’t even go one day without the deliciousness, let alone 8! Do I really need to bring clothing? Can I use my suitcase to smuggle in a supply?
Try though I might, I can’t see a way around this. I’m certainly not going to skip the trip just because I can’t wean myself from the chemical tit, but I need to find something else I can live off for a week without suffering from withdrawal. I’ve only thought of one half-assed solution, and I’m not too crazy about it: I’m going to have to learn to drink.
I’m thankfully not allergic to rum, so I’ll start there. We have some random rum in the closet somewhere, and I picked up some mango-infused rum to practice on. I will practice until I am Awesome at Drinking. I will get really Good at Drinking so I can spend my vacation plastered off my ass – the Thing to Do, apparently – so I won’t be annoyed at the lack of Diet Coke. This is a good plan, right? You can do anything if you just practice hard enough.
Who wants to get practice drunk with me?
Here is a picture of a tiny bejeweled monkey for some reason: