Want to know how to tell that you're not at San Francisco International Airport and are instead in the George Bush Airport in Houston, Texas? The first words you overhear at Bush are from a gentlemen - wearing a tshirt with longhorns - asking the lady in the gift shop if she has any chew.
Chaw? I don't think he asked for chaw. Chew it was.
Want to know how to tell that you're in the buffet line aboard the Navigator of the Seas, steaming towards Honduras, and not at home? It's when you overhear a father, wide of girth, happy and hungry, telling his teenage son, in all seriousness - I guess we could take the healthy route and go for the fried chicken.
Want to know why specificity in all things is good? For instance, when you're trying to decide on which excursions to take, and on the Honduran island of Roatan, they're are many to choose from - they're are dolphin experiences, they're are friendly monkeys to pet, is there a zipline? Maybe.
But when you're trying to decide, and you get all excited because your niece expresses uncharacteristic interest in the monkeys, only to have your hopes dashed because the monkeys are all sold out - so you won't be able to travel that day with your niece. She wasn't that interested in the dolphins, alas.
And then, at dinner last night? When you discover that indeed spaces opened up for the monkey trip, and you're talking about that, and the mom of your niece laughs, she laughs and says her daughter was indeed interested - but she was actually interested in the Monkees.
If it was the Monkees, she would be in - but White Faced monkeys? Those kinds, not so much.
So Honduras awaits, the island awaits - with its monkeys. Not Monkees.
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