The plane to get to Cuba was delayed, so there was a bit of waiting before departure. Since it was very early in the morning, and both Brooke and I had packed our things late the night before, we slept through most of the wait. After we finally took off, it took a bit under 5 hours to get there. After picking up our luggage and getting into the bus, we arrived at the resort. It was noonish and, fortunately, our room was ready. First problem: this was supposed to be a room with two beds. As it turns out, it was a single, queen-sized bed. I checked with front desk, and they apologized for the problem, but there were no other rooms left. We’d have to make do with that, or one of us could use the couch. Brooke was quick to claim the bed (“Mine!”) and point to the couch (“Yours!”). I objected, but she said I had to be gallant and let her have the bed (“‘Cuz I’m a chick.”). I objected forcefully (“No you’re not! You just misplaced your dick!”), but she would have none of it. “Fine,” I conceded. “You get the bed tonight, I get it tomorrow. We’ll take turns. That’s fair, right?” She didn’t say anything, and I knew this was an argument I was going to lose night after night. Well, we’d cross that bridge when we’d get there, wouldn’t we? I was still pretty tired (from the rush at work), but I didn’t want to spend all my time inside the room sleeping. Instead, I’d go to the beach, lie down on a chair, and soak up the sun. (Yes, I did wear powerful sunscreen, and NO, not the one that Minx had given me.) Brooke joined me, wearing one of those flimsy slingshot bikinis–the kind that’s designed for tanning, not swimming. Honestly, I hadn’t really “seen” her goods in a while, and was suddenly reminded of how hot Mandy’s body was. And the people on the beach certainly noticed too (not just the guys, by the way). We spent most of the afternoon on the beach, reading, sleeping, drinking little drinks with umbrellas in them, and (in my case) swimming in the ocean. At night, there was a welcoming dinner at the fancy restaurant of the resort. Brooke wore her “little black dress,” the one that’s designed to show off her legs, boobs, and heck, all of her, really. I had to admit it was a little distracting, and she caught me staring down her cleavage more than a few times. She was a good sport about it, though, and didn’t give me TOO much of a hard time. (As a side note, if you’ve never been to Cuba, just know you don’t go there for the food. Or the wine. But service was great, and this was a free trip, so neither of us complained.) We then went to see the evening show, which was something called “Crazy Cabaret.” There was some singing, some comedy, and some dancing. At one particular moment, one of the male dancers stumbled and nearly dropped his partner, a tall and elegant (but snob-looking) latina. She gave him such a dirty look (for just a fraction of a second, but long enough for me to notice) that I thought she was going to slap him. She regained her composure quickly and the show went on, but Brooke leaned closer to me and whispered in my ear. “What a bitch! Leading isn’t easy, she should cut the guy some slack.” “Yeah,” I murmured, still focused on the show. “Maybe you should loosen her up a bit,” Brooke suggested. “She looks pretty photogenic to me…” I quickly got it. Brooke was referring to my iPhone, and its special ability. I sighed. “You’re impossible!” I grumbled. “No, just highly improbable,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. So I quickly pulled out my iPhone, pointed it at Brooke, and snapped a shot before she could react. “Wait no! *Aaaah*” There. That would teach her (and distract her) while I pointed it at the dancer. I zoomed in, snapped two rapid shots, and watched with amusement as she immediately slunk sexily against her partner (who was more than a little surprised by the sudden closeness). Gone was the biatch, in was the purring kitty. “Jaycee,” Brooke said, “you bastard!” Yeah, this was going to be one FUN vacation… –Jaycee