Unforgettable cruise

Chapter 2 - (actual chapter 1 continues…)

Leigh was rarin’ to go the moment Andrés next returned to her table. “I’ll please start with the Tempura Wands and Crab Rangoon Moons, then look forward to the Porcine Suprema, and a side of Buffalo Coins.”

“Very good” he smiled, thinking {Your generous hips suggest to me I needn’t say anything about our generous portions.} “Beverage this evening?”

“A bottle of the 2017 Pearly Night merlot, please.”

“Excellent. Wine with the meal?”

“I’m ready now” she grinned.


Millions of people in the world, millions of opinions of all sorts. What to Andrés was Leigh’s generous right hip (the only one of hers he could see as she sat) tended to be little more than pleasantly curvaceous in the fatlovesex world, a.k.a. the fatosphere. Naturally even there opinions differed, with some in the community likely to apply the plumper label to her physique, others disagreeing that she’d reached that level of plushness.


{This is why I’m doing this cruise!} blissed-out Leigh thought, as she savored her current Crab Rangoon Moon moon-shaped dumpling, feeling wholly in the moment and mostly (apart from the dressy formality) in her element. {No one knows me, no one’s looking at me, no one’s judging me.}

Throughout the entirety of the meal, every bite of every dish made love to her taste buds, with every sip of wine caressing them.


**
Well over an hour later, vanquished plates, platters, and bowls disappeared into the hands of the busser, then into his pre-rinse/transport bucket.

The moment he rolled away, Andrés reappeared. “Dessert this evening?”

“Yes please. Please kindly explain why even a chef prone to alliteration would name a dessert Persnickety Snickerdoodles?”

“We do generally tend to think of the definition of persnickety as fussing over trivial, minor, possibly irrelevant details, I admit. There is however the definition of substances, materials, or ingredients requiring the utmost precision and care, which is how Chef Lindgren describes this dish’s titling.”

“I’ve made snickerdoodles at home before. The ingredients aren’t that fussy!” she objected.

“Ah, but the many nuanced ingredients setting Persnickety Snickerdoodles apart from those you and I and others we know have made put them in a separate category necessitating precise execution.”


Her very full stomach told Leigh to proceed with caution, perhaps even opt out of dessert. Her lusty taste buds told her otherwise. “I must know for myself what sets these Persnickety Snickerdoodles apart from the many good ones I’ve had and occasionally made over the years.”

“Very good.”

“Is a small pot of mint tea an option?”

“Absolutely. We have spearmint, peppermint, and blended mint non-caffeinated herbal infusions.”

“Spearmint please.”


**
{Nutmeg… candied lavender… honey… *wowwww!*}
Her mouth figuratively danced a jig at the joys of these amazing cookies, complimented exquisitely by the spearmint tea.

Very mildly disappointed that Andrés wasn’t on the menu in any capacity, Leigh bid him and Glissando goodnight. Her bright below-knee floral extravaganza-on-white dress had its work cut out for it containing her maxed-out belly. Other than tightness around that region from the 100% cotton dress’s lack of give, she felt comfortable on her way out of the restaurant.


On her way back through the still-busy Grand Promenade, Leigh played a solo game of identifying as many different languages as she could recognize. Monolingual herself, she nevertheless had sufficient familiarity with the characteristics of several of the world’s major languages to be able to identify them on sound, even if she could rarely understand more than an occasional word and not ever speak even that much.

Italian from the large group of about 23 apparently-Italians standing near the lobby seating area of the Grand Promenade was easy. One friendly gentleman amongst them briefly smiled and waved at her over the distance as she passed, upon seeing her apparently studying him/them.

German from a passing likely-German couple in a deep conversation with one another and seemingly in somewhat of a hurry was easy.

A group of 4 individuals sounding to her to be speaking Chinese on the brief occasions they spoke as they stood and looked between one another (possibly figuring something out together) incremented her count by one.

Gliding down the down escalator as she glid up the up escalator, Leigh thought she heard a couple looking to her like parents speaking to 4 younger people with them in an Asian language of which she was not certain. Hearing “kimchee” she guessed Korean.

A few steps away from the top of the escalators near the main elevators the characteristic serial monosyllabic staccato of Japanese caught her ear, confirmed with several repeated “Hi”s (themselves confirmations).


Hearing Spanish came as no surprise whatsoever, for a ship which most recently boarded no more than 15 miles from the Mexican border. Thing was, to Leigh’s ears the couple riding with her in the elevator seemed to be speaking another Spanish dialect. Which one, she had no idea.

“Beeauuutiful ship, yes?” the gentleman of the pair said to her.

Much as she was tempted to reply “Si. Muy linda”, her better wisdom kept her on the much safer path of sticking with “Yes, very much so.”

Each of Ernesto and Gloria Albiol introduced themselves to Leigh (and vice-versa) with hearty handshakes just before exiting the elevator on the Vista deck—one amongst the primarily-stateroom decks.