seven seas of the politically incorrect

i have been to mexico.

i have climbed mayan ruins and learned to sing happy birthday in the native tongue of indonesia.

i have been to sea and yet all i learned and saw was not enough.

and it was too much.

a cruise ship is a floating vessel for the seven deadly sins. i committed all of them. more than once.

i knew avarice, playing the slots like a crack-whore with a mary kay make-over and a fetish for ten dollar bills. i won. i lost. in the end, at fifty bucks ahead, i kicked the habit.
i had other fixes that needed attention.

gluttony called. i was late and dinner was on the table. i was at once in her thrall, held fast with a chocolate buffet and a warm glass of milk.
i am so easy.
and so obvious.

after that, self control held no sway and i roared through the rest of my iniquities with a ease that made me gasp in disbelief.

being me, on board that ship, was not for the faint-hearted. i tend to have the subtlety of a hip-hop remix of an ethel merman show tune.
i consumed in the best american fashion and squandered plenty like a republican with a budget surplus.

i knew no shame then.
i know it now.
but some of us wear it better than others,
like certain shades of red or spectator pumps.
the trick is knowing when to take them off.

i will take it off, eventually. but right now, i like how it looks on me.
i think that is what they mean by
"hussy".
and for now, that is just what i will remain:
a lipsticked, spectator pump wearing HUSSY.