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feel like Cinderella. Only instead of leaving a shoe at the party, the only thing I left was a masticated cherry. Now, THERE’S an image: Prince AJ knocking on stateroom doors, maraschino cherry in hand, trying to find the girl with the dainty throat that fits the cherry. Okay. I know that’s weird.)
    The girls who informed me of this situation were speaking perfect English and wearing shirts with the words “USA!” and “America Rocks” on the fronts, so I assumed they were fellow Americans. How foolish I am! They are—of course!—Lebanese. (The foreign language programs in Lebanon are obviously far superior to ours in America, judging by the degree of fluency they have in English, which about matches the degree of non-fluency I have in German.) They told me this whole story of what transpired at the party after my getaway. At the end of it, they said, simultaneously, “You are SO lucky! Don’t you think AJ’s HOT?”
    “Uh, NO?” I said. Then noticing their expressions of aghastness (is that a word?), I added, “You see, I’m from Washington, DC, and we, uh, don’t really, uh, GET the Texans—yeah, THAT.”
    “Really?” the girl who had introduced herself as Tatyana asked, smiling.
    “So, you don’t LIKE him?” Noori (the other girl) (duh) asked.
    “Well, I like him in a he’s-pretty-good-at-the-Heimlich-maneuver sort of way,” I said, “But, no, I don’t LIKE him like him.”
    “So, can my best friend, Noori, ask him out?” Tatyana asked.
    “Okaay,” I said, wondering when I’d been appointed Love Czar of the cruise.
    “Oh, THANKS!” Noori said. And she actually HUGGED me.
    (Hormones rage in Lebanon, too, I guess.)
    “So, I’m wondering,” I said, “how did you get both of your families to go on the same vacation?”
    “We’re with my parents,” Tatyana said. “Next month we’re doing the eastern Mediterranean with Noori’s parents.”
    “We don’t have any brothers or sisters, so we’ve been going on vacations together for forever,” Noori added.
    “You are really lucky,” I said. “If my best friend were here, I know I’d have SO much more fun.”
    (Which is true, Delia.)
    (Even though you are SUCH a pain.)
    “Do stuff with us!” Noori said.
    “Yeah,” Tatyana said. “Meet us at the party tonight, at the Roman Ruins Pool.”
    “Okay,” I said. “That’s REALLY nice.”
    “So,” Tatyana said, after a pause, “is it, um, a GOOD thing to be a geeky jock in DC?”
    I realized then that the palm of my hand was openly displayed on the arm of my lounge chair, so, quickly flipping it over, I said, laughing, “Oh, that was written by a person I was visiting in a mental institution.”
    (Well, THAT’S what you get for using a Sharpie and going over the letters so many times. I think I may have this on my hand for LIFE.)
    Then my NEW FRIENDS—who don’t WRITE on me, thank-you-very-much—and I hung out and did some scheming about how to get AJ to shift his amore (that’s LOVE) from me to Noori.
    Speaking of WHICH . . . I’ve gotta go! I’m supposed to meet them early, so I can tell them about Texas.
    Which might be difficult, since I’ve never BEEN there.
    Life is a very bizarre thing, isn’t it?
    Bye, now!

    p.s. I am wearing the bikini!

    p.p.s. But I put a shirt over it again.

    p.p.p.s. SORRY! I’m JUST NOT READY!

    p.p.p.p.s. Anyway, with this Texas guy out looking for me, I don’t think I should wear something that might further attract his attention.

    p.p.p.p.p.s. AND YOU CAN’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT BECAUSE YOU’RE THOUSANDS OF MILES AWAY!

    p.p.p.p.p.p.s. I know, I KNOW. I’m truly sad. (Sigh.)

Tuesday (or so the mat says)
----
    Dear Delia,
    I woke up to the sight of land out of the porthole (in Earth-speak: window). We are arriving in Barcelona. Mi madre (which looks a lot like Italian, I know, but it is pronounced “mee MAH-dray,” and it is Spanish, since we are in . . . YES! SPAIN!) has informed me that we have to eat a “quick-quick”