The De-Evolution of “Vacation Jenni”

Everyday Jenni has, admittedly, devolved over the past couple of decades. Most notably, Jenni Phomsithi looks as if she ate Jenni Isely. And Jenni Isely had some chub to her. College Jenni tried to tan in the 90s, but instead she turned into one giant freckle. Mid-thirties Jenni awoke one day to random facial hair. All of which is to say that on any given day I’m fat, white, and possibly unintentionally hairy. But, because I have a rather large, and completely unwarranted, ego, most of this doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it should. In fact, I mostly forget about my looks, so long as I can avoid pictures and mirrors. So, while Everyday Jenni is by no standard pleasing to the eyes, Vacation Jenni is akin to something you’d see on the People of Walmart site. While most people spend their lives evolving, I devolve for a week every summer.

The de-evolution of Vacation Jenni began about four summers ago. We spent the Fourth of July in San Antonio. At SeaWorld. And I wore black yoga pants all day long. To make matters worse, I agreed at about 10 a.m. to sit in the Splash Zone of a whale show. I was thinking it may cool me off to get sprayed a bit with some tap water. I was not thinking whales live in saltwater, idiot. Do you know how long it takes black cotton yoga pants, which have been soaked in saltwater, to dry in the Texas summer sun? Me neither. They were still damp in all the wrong places when we left the park twelve hours later.

On the way back to the hotel, I made myself two promises. Promise number one was that we’d stop at a Walgreens to buy aloe vera and medicated body powder. (Um, no thigh gap here.) Promise number two was that I’d, forever after, wear only shorts on summer vacation — white jiggle be damned. And, despite a long record of failing promises to myself, this second promise has panned out over the last few years. Probably because it means some wind occasionally drifts up my shorts, thereby lowering my chances of developing that dreaded condition known as swass.

I now own six pair of shorts, which come out of hiding once a year. I own a pair of black cotton shorts and a pair of the same shorts in navy blue. I own really short black linen and pink linen shorts; each year I try these on, am reminded they’re so short that I can’t see them under my shirt, and I stick them back in my drawer in hopes that the laundry fairy will add some length to them before next summer. I also own a pair of black and a pair of khaki shorts — I bought them at Walmart, so those shorts are kind of the hot dogs of the clothing world, in that I have no idea what they’re made of. Four of the six get packed in my suitcase every summer, along with rolls of quarters for the laundry machine. I also throw in some t-shirts. Most of them say “Danville Little Johns,” as I work at a school and our mascot is corny. Others are freebies from technology conferences. I pack a lot of shoes, most of which go unworn. My favorite shoes for perusing theme parks are my Crocs flip-flops and Chacos. In addition to the aforementioned, I pack assorted swimsuits, all of which have some kind of dress component to the bottom, my hair straightener, and every piece of make-up I own. I throw in one gold necklace and one silver necklace, just in case. I try to balance practicality with, well, not wearing a fanny pack. And the only reason I don’t wear a fanny pack is that I can’t fit an umbrella in it.

Let’s take a look at this year’s vacation outfits. We drove to Universal Studios in Orlando, and I wore my favorite black yoga pants on the way there.

My hair was straight, and I kept up my make-up, as I knew we’d have to run into a restroom every couple of hours. We arrived at noon, and spent the first day shopping and swimming. When we went to dinner at Joe’s Crab Shack, I switched into navy shorts with a white tribal shirt. My flip-flops had some bling, and I wore a gold necklace to compliment the summer outfit. It was perfect chain restaurant summer attire. We went for a night swim upon returning to the resort, and I had a fresh bathing suit and cover up ready to wear.

The next morning I awoke an hour earlier than the rest of the clan. After all, I had to iron an athletic gray t-shirt and black Walmart shorts. I shower at night because I’m too lazy to use a hairdryer in the morning, and, as per normal, my hair had dried wonky, and I had to use the straightener on it. I carefully applied sunscreen before my make-up. Being the Irish part of an inter-racial family, I’m the only one who ever has to worry about this. I looked as good as I’ve ever looked in the Florida summer. I should’ve taken a selfie, but that’s never good for my self-esteem. Enjoy, instead, a picture of the family eating turkey legs that afternoon.

Although none of them look sweaty, my Irish head was sporting a ponytail and two bobby pins by this time. An hour later, and I’d have the Frogg Toggs cooling towel, in peach, around my neck. So, day two, and the de-evolution had begun.

By day three, this attractive waterproof ticket and keycard holder graced my neck (which was again exposed to the wind, thanks to a ponytail holder).

Day four:  Make-up? Who needs make-up? We’re just having a beach day. All I need is a damp bathing suit from last night’s swim and my favorite Crocs.

Day five was back to the parks, where the kids managed to look incredible.

Me? Well, I looked clean, after having spent until 2 a.m. doing laundry. And by “clean,” I mean I showered and brushed my teeth. Long gone were the days of ironing, straightening, and apply mascara and lipstick. My perfume of choice was Banana Boat, because red isn’t a good color on my skin.

That night, I hit a low point. I was tired. I’d stayed up until 2 a.m. and then gotten up at 6 a.m. to get a jump start on the Harry Potter nonsense. I don’t even like Harry Potter! We’d done water rides that day.  If you’ve never done a water ride at Universal, then grab a friend, take him outside, have him strap you to the deck chair and spray you with water for five minutes without relenting. The water rides at Islands of Adventure are used for torturing terrorists at night. Y’all? I could’ve poured water out of my panties following the Jurassic Park ride. Anyway … that night I was tired. The husband wanted to eat at an all-you-can-eat crab legs place, and the seven-year-old daughter wanted crawfish. The teenager? He just wanted meat.

We ate at Boston Lobster Feast. For the mere price of $50 a head, we had unlimited lobster, steak, crab legs, crawfish, and more. The hubs, who is allergic to shellfish, started with a plate of oysters, followed with a bowl of crab legs, and finished with four lobsters — and some Benadryl. The kids ate their weight in seafood and steak, too. I ate enough to be miserable. And, after a trip to take my daughter to the restroom, I felt even worse. Because we soaked our park outfits, I’d just pulled randomly from my suitcase for my evening attire. People, we ate a $200 meal, and I was wearing a burnt orange shirt and cotton navy shorts with an elastic waistband. I had on Chacos, no make-up, and damp hair. I took a backpack in instead of a purse! If the bathroom mirror were to be believed, and I suppose it was, as I hadn’t drank a thing, I’m not even sure I looked female!

So, day six saw the resurgence of make-up, as did day seven.

I had a relapse on the way home, though. We drove to Perdido Key and spent the night crabbing with the cousins. As this was somewhat unexpected, my beach clothes became my pajamas, became my drive-home-to-Arkansas clothes the next day. So, that was fun.

I’ve been sick since we returned home, though I’m sure it’s unrelated.