I’m packing for the Romantic Times Booklovers Convention. Last year it was in Kansas City Missouri and involved various escapades with snowballs, biscuitsngravy and getting reported for excessive noise (ie. Raucous laughter and DietCoke drunkenness) while hanging out in E.L James suite.
This year RT is in New Orleans Louisiana. There wont be any surprise snow but I will get to meet up with fantabulous author friends again, attend workshops and hear from some authors whose work I’m entranced with – like Charlaine Harris (any True Blood/Sookie Stackhouse fans in the house?!), Nalini Singh, and husband and wife writing duo Ilona Andrews, just to name a few. I shall try very hard not to fall on the ground in awe when I see them.
This will be my first time to Louisiana. I’m not looking forward to the heat and sweltering humidity because HELLO I live in sauna Samoa. (I would have preferred some snow to be honest…) But I’ve heard great things about the food, the sights and the sounds in New Orleans – so I’m excited.
I have a free day at the convention so I thought I would do some sightseeing. I looked up a few tours and chose The SWAMP TOUR. Where you go with a guide on an airboat into the swamp and look for alligators, snakes and other assorted wildlife. How supercool would that be!!?? I had visions of me…bold and brave, communing with nature of the reptilian variety. In these visions I kinda sorta looked like Angelina Jolie-Lara Croft’s big brown sister. (Emphasis on big.)
But then I told the Fab4 (we are minus one because Big Son has run away to university…sniff sniff) – and the Fab4 didnt share my vision.
Big Daughter scoffed because “You’re scared of snakes on TV. What are you gonna do if one leaps into the boat?”
Bella said NO WAY because “Only my dad can do exciting fings. You can’t run fast away from alligators. You will come back and say See this is where my leg used to be. A alligator ate it.”
Little Son laughed. “You’re going to fall off the boat and drown cos you cant swim. Ha ha.” (Just because he’s done three kids triathlons now he’s all smug and thinks he can mock his non-swimming mother. #Brat.)
Little Daughter cried. Because “you might die. Please don’t go on a swamp tour. Please mum. I will pray hard that you change your mind.”
Well, that was the nail in the swamptour coffin. I could ignore scoffing and mockery – but not tears. And prayers.
So yeah. I’m going to New Orleans but I wont be going into any swamps. Which is rather sad because I reeeally did want to be Lara Croft’s big brown sister.