On a cold January night, I checked my iPhone to see an email from my boss. “Would you are to go on a press trip to the Bahamas to cover their ‘mancation’ activities?” he asked. “I AM SERIOUS.” My editor received an invite to stay on Nassau Paradise Island but had a previous engagement that he couldn’t break. At the time, I was sitting in my friend’s apartment drinking white wine (with ice!). “Um,” I said before reading the email aloud, to which my friend guffawed loudly. “A mancation, huh?” she howled. “Of course you have to go, if only because I am already excited to get all of the angry emails from you when you’re down there.”
I might be the only person who has ever complained about a trip to the Bahamas. I’m not really a beach person. I’m not particularly fond of being shirtless in public, I don’t really like hot weather, and the idea of doing “manly” activities with strangers did not strike me as something I’d enjoy. Considering I’ve been what you could call an “inside kid” for nearly 29 years, I wasn’t really looking forward to the trip. My friends and boss all found some glee in the idea that I’d be deep-sea fishing and snorkeling with sharks, as they, as well as I, anticipated that I’d silently loathe all of the activities planned on the trip while vocally expressing my interest because I’m too polite. And, hey, it’s a free vacation away from the cold February weather in New York. I couldn’t pass that up, could I?
