Stretching towards the Sauna

I decided to take the easy way out. My Sugar did her "stretching" while I... sat back and watched. And drank. There's something about unlimited cocktails that reaches a man deep in his soul. Nadia, the lithe and mysterious East European dancer, led the disparate band of tourists in 45 minutes of low-intensity calisthenics. Not all of them stayed the course, though. After one Canadian girl exclaimed that the movements made her feel like a chicken, she and her clutch of young hens left the stage, amidst much clucking and pecking. I couldn't fault her for her insight: with her long skinny legs and longer neck she did look rather gallinaceous.

Sugar stick it out a bit longer, while I wrote and gawked. When she'd had enough, she smiled and said it was time for the sauna. I'd never been much for the clinging heat and oppressive humidity that makes every pore weep for shame at all the chemicals we keep pumping into our bodies. I couldn't help thinking it would have done me a world of good, so, with my usual heroic zeal, I decided instead to head once more for the bar. Maybe I was becoming a lush. I've certainly been worse things in my time. But I had a finely crafted argument in my defence. It's a cruise, and I can live it up all I like.