So, let me tell you about our first trip to Spain, Jay and Lisa. “We had a frightful start, due to a turbulent flight, meaning your sainted mother ‘blew chunks’ and was the star of an epic barf-arama.”
Brenda interjected, “no Jim, the flight you’re thinking of was the one to Ireland.”
“Well, anyway the first day in Torremolinos, we took a bus to Mijas (me-hass); a spectacular little town high in the rolling hills of ancient Andalusia.”
“Actually Jim, we went to Mihas the second not the first day of our trip.”
“Well thank you so much Brenda for that necessary clarification but anyway, it was a spectacular drive up to that high village; we viewed spectacular countryside as we caressed the hills that over-looked the ocean, while scaling the lofty heights approaching Mihas.”
“Jim, the hills were impressive but they weren’t exactly Alps!”
“Yes but you will admit, my sweet viper, that they were possibly mini Alps perhaps?” I added testily.
I was then implored by my kids to continue.
“Anyway, we got off in the main plaza and did some spectacular sightseeing; from the rugged heights we caught glimpses of the sparkling sea, saw cattle grazing on the verdant hills and viewed sleepy little towns glimmering with white walls nestled under red-tiled roofs.
Being a little peckish, after hours of exploring, we stopped at a Tapas bar for a wee bite and a big slurp of vino.”
“Jim, we had beer with our Tapas, not wine; I remember that distinctly!”
“Thanks again for that vital correction my love; anyway, we were seated at a table with a beautiful ocean view where we enjoyed a few delectable local dishes and chased it down with great gulps of hearty wine…or cold beer…depending on whom you believe.”
The kids then rolled their eyes.
“Dad, don’t get pissy, please continue” “Right, you are then; anyway about an hour after leaving the bar, we both started with whimpering stomachs, which soon turned into rumbling cries to find a loo. So we started running down the hill to the best restaurant in town, hoping to find superior washrooms that we desperately needed to avail ourselves of.”
“Actually, (Brenda butted in for the 10th time), the situation was not that frantic in that we were walking with a sense of urgency but not running. Continue Jim.”
“Thanks once again my helpful piranha,” I caustically added; “so we were maybe not running but walking very, very briskly with our knees near hitting our chins, and just before exploding, we found in the nick of time, a glamorous crapper, in a most elegant restaurant.
Through the walls I could hear your mother making noises that sounded like they came from mythical beasts, great groans, moans and mournful laments.”
“As I recall Jim, it was ‘you’ making all the noise; I was never so embarrassed!”
Anyway kids, I’d like to thank your mom for helping with the story of the deadly “Tapas trots!” Would you like her to help me out with the story of our adventure to France the following year? “Don’t you mean Italy Jim?”