Coming to you live, kind of crispy and a little drunk, from the Caribbean

The mister and I are currently lounging in St. Croix, sipping icy drinks made of local rum, and watching the world go by.

I am now a certified PADI scuba diver, as is the mister.

We made the horrible mistake of going snorkeling over a hurricane-damaged coral reef in high waves and ended up getting dragged over some very sharp coral. Ouch. At least the coral was dead, which means the risk of nasty infection goes down a good deal.

I have the strangest collection of tan/burn lines from my swimsuit, various t-shirts and tank tops, the buoyancy vest I wore while scuba-diving, my dive mask, and two different kinds of flip flops. My entire body is various shades of red and tan, I smell like Hawaiian Tropic SPF 70, and I mostly feel like a chicken nugget: crispy, fried, and a little greasy.

It is incredibly hot here, particularly if the ocean breeze is blocked. I have yet to find a ladylike way of sitting that does not require one part of my skin to touch any other part, which basically means I don't sit like a lady. I don't much care.

I also have developed a new and rather refreshing comfort with my body flaws. I have a woman's awareness of my shape and the shape of my shapes, a trait that means I don't often walk around in just my swimsuit - there's usually a cover-up, wrap, sarong, or long t-shirt involved. Down here, though, it is just too stinking hot for that kind of neurosis, which means I walk around in my bikini, bulges and body image be damned.

We have sampled much of the local rum. The mister has discovered a drink called a Bushwacker. We have no idea what's in it, but whatever it is, it will get you tipsy in a hurry.

All in all, being on vacation is awesome.