For better or for worse ...

Betcha think this is a post about marriage. Nope. This is a post about surprise upgrades ... for better or for worse.

The first upgrade of our trip was getting transported to the airport via town car rather than a shuttle van. Very awesome. Especially when I didn't realize the Airborne tablet I popped into my mouth wasn't meant to be chewable. (Think Alkaseltzer-like fizzing in your mouth -- and no place to spit it.) The town car had water bottles and snacks! Thank heavens ... because for a bit there I thought the fizzing would never end ... Of course, on the way home we did get the van. The fullest shuttle van I've ever been in. Every seat, even the front seat, had a person in it. And we were the last stop.

But the best, and in the end the most painful, of my for better or for worse upgrades, would be our vehicle for the week. I'd pondered splurging on a convertible or a Jeep, but my neighbor (he's from Hawaii) just laughed at me and let me know that I'd want a top on my car. I'd want my AC working strong, and fast. And so we decided to spend our dollars in other ways, and reserved a compact car. But upon arrival, lordy, lordy: they were out of compacts. (At least they weren't out of cars, like apparently some other rental companies were having to deal with.) So the apologetic woman behind the desk pointed to the car lot and asked us if the white Jeep Wrangler to the left would be OK. Same price as the compact, and she'd toss in a $25 gas credit since it wasn't as fuel efficient. Hmmm ... sure. And while the first day or two it rained too much to take the top off, we decided during our trip up and down the Wimea Canyon that it might be nice for my cousin to be able to get a better view, so we wrassled the top down. And all was well ...



... until we ended up, after making it down the canyon, driving a little too far during the hot part of the day. An extra few minutes turned into an hour or so in the baking sun. And my attempt to get a little color on my arms ... well, let's just say my arms ended up quite neopolitan. I had my chocolate, my strawberry and my remaining vanilla. There is a photo of this, but I don't plan on sharing. But if you don't get the concept, here's a reference point:



Ouch. The strawberry still hurts.