I learned that, statistically, my husband gets hit on approximately 2.5 times more than I do.
I learned that if the norovirus is even half as contagious as body glitter, the only way to avoid it would be to spend the entire cruise barricaded inside your cabin with wet towels stuffed under the door.
I learned that on a gay cruise, the distinction between swimwear and underwear is fluid and subjective.
I learned that in photos posted to Facebook, the distinction between swimwear and underwear is actually quite obvious.
I learned that glass elevators are a magnet for ass prints.
|I learned that, while bears are generally low-|
maintenance, they do seem to be responsible
for a disproportionate share of pipe clogs.
I learned I can sleep in and still get a great deck chair – and make friends in the process – by being social and giving instead.
I learned more than I ever wanted to know about the various gauges of genital piercings. I did not, however, learn how those guys got their junk through the metal detectors.
I learned that at sea, just as on land, lesbians gravitate to bowling alleys.
I learned I should never stand between my husband and Carl whenever a talented pianist plays any selection from the Beaches soundtrack.
I learned that if you have a balcony stateroom, it's a good idea to wear pajamas. Just because there's nothing but open ocean as far as the eye can see when you go to bed doesn't mean you won't wake up at port to find a Disney ship docked thirty feet away.
I learned that working on a cruise ship is probably not as glamorous as The Love Boat made it seem. Especially on a gay cruise, there are some chores you couldn't pay me enough to do. I kept picturing some poor soul laundering our sheets and towels and dreaming of a promotion to glass elevator squeegee-er.
|I learned that if you're looking for Stevie,|
check the buffet, the spa, then the European
sunbathing deck, in that order.