Not my real life

So, we're in beautiful La Jolla. (pronounce like "la hoya" not the Bugs Bunny way, of "la joe-la", but that's not important right now.)

And our hotel is Right. On. The. Sand. (I know. Shut up.)

And the sea is warm.

And we're spending HOURS in the water.

And then we lazily make our way back to the hotel (about twelve whole steps) to take a quick dip in the pool. But we end up staying by the pool for the rest of the afternoon because they have these yummy and cushy chaise-lounges.

And just when I think I can take no more of this lazy luxury, we come in from our day in the sun and I find.... The Robe.

A pristine white-microfibery-awesome-plushness of a robe. With the hotel's logo sweetly embroidered in gold.

And it's at that exact moment that I start to feel super-pampered (and embarrasingly, slightly superior) and I put on this gorgeous symbol of all that is at once decadent and holy about life in Southern California.

And as I ask Lucy to snap a photo of me in the deliciousness of what is Me in The Fabulous Hotel Robe, I think hey! it's Tuesday. As in Self-Portrait Tuesday, and my next immediate thought is,

"Wow. This is sooo not my real life, but I am so going to blog about it anyway." ;-)

"Yes, of course, I do stay at Fabulous Logo-Robe Resorts with astonishing regularity..."

But my conscience bugs...

The truth? I'm a total ''guajira." (Guajira is a Cuban term for a simple, country-type person. Think bumpkin. =D)

I am easily amused. And easily amazed. By a simple white robe, for example.