In the summer of 1992, shortly after I met my soon to be wife, we took a cheap trip to Cuba.
I mean really cheap. $398 each all in. Yes, everything. Flight, food (near food, to be precise), drink, accommodation, and 3 hours of Communist Manifesto lessons.
Best trip we ever had. Even the day trip where they subjected us to a speech on the benefits of a communist lifestyle, the best feature being electricity and water for only one hour a day. Sign me up!
The last few days this week reminded me of one key feature of that trip. I forgot my bathing suit. Maybe it was that we rushed into booking and going on the trip. Maybe it was that I had one of my toenails painted. Maybe it was new found love. I'm not sure which.
Anywho, I had to buy a suit at the "resort" (a word that requires quotes when located in communist countries). This store was not to be confused with Sporting Life. They had one size and one brand of suit. I estimated the size was for an overly breast fed baby at best, and the brand was Speedo.
There was I, swimming with what looked like some thick branch bent in half in my mid section. Could have been a baby's arm. One could have been convinced that my body had been squeezed out of this piece of fabric, like play doh pushed through a mold. Not much else was left to the imagination.
Years later I heard that my visit was the first time Castro started to think maybe the communist lifestyle wasn't so cool. Some time after that his brother took over. Coincidence?
All these wonderful memories led to the birth of a new psychological term - emotional speedo.
Two days ago I slipped into my emotional speedo. I woke up feeling tight and cranky. All kinds of negative thoughts and emotions swirling around in my head like a Sharknado. Normally in this circumstance I would keep my mouth shut so as not to incur anybody's wrath. I am a strong male and I have a solid iron grip on my emotions.
Well, screw that. My emotional speedo squeezed out every negative thought I could think of and left nothing to the imagination.
I didn't censor my thoughts or emotions and I tried not to judge them either. I was Les Miz. After a day and a half of this, I felt great. What a release. What an emotional colon cleaning.
Now I'm back to my normal happy self in my two piece bathing suit. Because in the end you are as happy as you decide to be.
HELLOOOO NEWMAN: Laughter is your sixth sense
