LAURIE: Just got back from Costa Rica. I didn’t find a wedding dress but I did find the kind of atmosphere I want to promote at our wedding: the kind that allows a person to wear a bikini or a pair of swim trunks to the dinner table. In certain regions of the world, wearing a bathing suit to a meal is called “white trash.” When you’re doing it in a Central American surf destination town with monkeys in the trees, it’s called “relaxed.”
We don’t surf, and so were left alone by our small hotel’s other occupants. The exception was a somewhat callow Israeli youth who, after a few minutes of conversation, bragged of having shirked his army duty to surf in Central America and Hawaii. He wore a small pot pipe on a leather cord around his neck, Gucci sunglasses and voluminous blue cotton pants. He was traveling with an effusive, competitive American girl who’d just moved to Costa Rica, from Chicago. His motto, he told us, was “fuck everybody, I’ll do whatever I want.” My grifter-detector hasn’t seen much action since the old Grateful Dead concert tour days,
Thongs for the memories!
but I felt certain that this guy was going to steal all of this girl’s stuff, including her adorable boxer, who drank tons of water from the hotel swimming pool.
It was one of those scenes that makes me happy to be loping toward matrimony.