That's the sound I make every time I go outside. Justin and I are in Winchester, Virginia for a few days (he has work-related training) and the temperatures have soared into the upper 90s. Once you tack in the humidity, it starts to feel like I'm swimming in a huge bowl of sweaty soup. Kind of gross, eh?
I really should do some sightseeing today since Winchester is pretty darn cute (as seen in the picture below) but, due to the heat, I'm tempted to stay cocooned in my hotel room where air conditioning is a plenty.
If I had a transporter though, I would totally transport myself to the beach today, preferably this beach in Bora Bora. Ahhhhhh! Doesn't it look sublime?
Last night, Justin and I were talking about going to Bora Bora when he gets back from Kabul in September. A sort of "Let's Celebrate Your Return From a War Zone!" trip. And so, I decided to do a little research this morning about hotel prices in French Polynesia...
...and my eyeballs fell out of their sockets. I had to catch them in my bare hands and pop them back in.
A THOUSAND DOLLARS PER NIGHT! Holy crap! That's more than some people pay for their mortgage per month!
But, I suppose, that sort of money would be worth it if you were 1.) a Trust Fund Kid, or 2.) a Saudi Prince, or 3.) Mark Zuckerberg. I mean, look at these awesome bungalows! They're built right over the water and some of them have "windows" on the floors so you can watch manta rays swim by or wave to your creepy neighbor who's peeking into your bedroom.
Pretty cool, right? And only for a thousand bucks (or more) a night! Quite a steal, quite a steal.
Until I find myself a transporter, however, I'll just be sitting in my hotel, working on my book, fanning myself with a piece of paper, and dreaming about the beach.
