DISCLAIMER: If you are related to me and find this, or any other post offensive in any way, PLEASE STOP READING NOW. It would do more damage than good for you to continue reading and discover that I am not actually who you think I am. I’m sorry. Go finish the sudoku – it’s a much more useful way to spend your time.

Well…I think it might be time to lower my expectations. You know how I’ve been complaining for, I don’t know, YEARS that I’m burned out, need a vakay immediately, oh boy I can’t wait for the beach in just two weeks? Yeah. Huh.

I talked to my MIL last night for a while and got a handle on how this Family Beach Vacation is going to shake out. It seems that it can be broken down sensibly into the number of bodies spending the night each night, which I have done in painstaking detail on my dry erase calendar in the kitchen. Logistics: There are 17 of us total, but only 15 of us can come (there are two extremely brilliant husbands who can’t get off work, the LUCKY BASTARDS), and of that 15, 6 are children. There are four bedrooms, three and a half baths, and an outdoor shower. Here’s how it’s gonna go (according to number of people sleeping in the house at a given moment):

Sunday-Wednesday: 5

Wednesday-Friday: 9

Friday-Saturday: 11

Saturday-Sunday: 9

Sunday-Tuesday: 6

Tuesday-Wednesday: 3

Wednesday-Sunday: I don’t care because I won’t be there anymore.

I tried to tell my MIL that I’m taking a tote bag full of books and a case of wine and a few fifths of tequila and maybe a carton of cigarettes, and if that wasn’t kosher with the rest of the crowd then I’d be glad to drive my car onto the sand and tough it out in the way-back of the station wagon. She reassured me with the news that there’s WiFi and lots of DVD players for Brian to watch “The Hulk” and “Hawaii Five-O” at all hours. Then I asked her about the bathroom situation (do we or do we not have to share?) and she said she’d have to wait and see until she gets to the house.

Internet, I might have to SHARE A BATHROOM.

Here’s how that works in my house: I have what one might call an exceptionally sensitive gag reflex. Like, the slightest mention of vomit (oh my god I don’t even think I can write this without puking all over my glamorous HP Pavilion DV6) sends me into waves of nausea not unlike a tsunami. So – and I’m NOT NAMING NAMES HERE – when there are people with whom I co-exist that like to dribble toothpaste and whiskers and mouthwash all over the counter and sink, I can barely wash my face without wanting to hurl. (We clean it, I swear we do, but then it’s dirty again in, like, an hour. Do you sympathize, Internet? Do you really?) In fact, our shower is so old and moldy-tiled that about six months ago I hauled my crap into the guest bathroom and now I shower there. Out of sight, out of mind. Anyway, none of this is taking into account the toilet paper issue (why is the extra never where it should be? how can we be out of rolls already?) and so now do you see why I might be more than just a little apprehensive about sharing a bathroom with more than one other person? Where am I going to store my toothbrush and my contacts case? Whose grubby hands (and other things) will have last touched the fixtures? Why am I thinking about this?

So I have concluded that if I arm myself with Janet Evanovich and Brad Thor and maybe some “Editors on Editing” and a enough tequila to make a bar in Cancun proud, I should be okay. In actuality, it’ll just be nice to be out of the office and the house, and to have my “toes in the water, ass in the sand” (thanks, Zac Brown). I’ll get to see all the girls, who grow and change every month it seems like, and I’ll be able to take afternoon naps and drink at eleven in the morning and not really feel guilty about it at all.

All of this won’t go down for another two weeks, but don’t worry: I’m taking my laptop (for school purposes, dammitall) and will bog and tweet on location.

You lucky ducks.

Coming Soon: A Costco shopping list that beats all shopping lists. Maybe.