So what...
...if I have a cough and it feels like I somehow swallowed a razor blade which is now sitting horizontally in my throat and shifting with every breath?
...if my cousin Matt, who snores with the same hurricane force common in all Montes/Delfino males, is going to crash in my own personal Tropicana room?
...if the dry desert heat makes my hair straight as matchsticks (I have, after all, often wished for that)?
...if my gambling history makes it clear that I will at some point lose $200 in under 180 seconds, scream, and go eat french fries?
...if I will be haunted by the desperate, sleepless, bloodshot, teary eyes of people who lose much, much more than $200?
I don't care about any of that because...it's my first solo trip in six years. And I'm on a pilgrimage of love, baby.
with many thanks to the spousal unit for wholeheartedly encouraging this splendid folly
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