The appointment was for 4:30 p.m. I get there at 4:10 p.m. and wait for about an hour or so. In the meantime I get to read a 1% magazine. I am sure that the 1% folks read this magazine because there were ads in it for jewelry that crested around the $367,000 level.
I'm not into polished rocks but I have to say there was not a cubic zirconia in the entire magazine. Fire stones and ice laced with golden circles. There was skimpy food served on porcelain . There were rich guys on private islands trying to keep the natives from encroaching on their land.
There were men in pinstripe suits so tight they couldn't pass gas. You could tell they steamed those male models to make sure not a fleck of dirt got near the cloth of the hem of that suit.
Truth be told I was focusing on the men because if you see one blonde woman wearing an evening gown on a surf board you have seen plenty.
No ads for plastic surgery or lap bands. No ads for ED. There were a lot of stories about exclusive hotels that have rooms for $2, 500+ a night.
Photographically the place looked magical. Until it got to the food. If I'm paying $100 a meal there has got to be some food on the plate. I like impressionistic paintings but I just can't do impressionistic dinning.
I read that sucker from stem to stern and not only did I learn that I am not worthy of the finer things in life I am content in my undesirability to swig up on high tone white rum. Unless you are going to mix some in rum raisin ice cream or rum water ice.
See, pedestrian. I know it.
This is not to say that if my long lost Sugar Daddy, or as I would prefer it, My patron and artistic supporter, happen to show up and offered me a weekend on the island I'd refuse.
I would not.
But we'd be stopping at the market to pick up some real food before we board the flight.