I recently vacationed in Cancun. The resort was incredible, with an infinity saltwater pool, a swim-up bar and kickin' margaritas, delicious food and a smiling, courteous staff. There was an on-site spa, a hot tub on our ocean-front balcony--ahhh, life was good!

The Yucatan renovations are very impressive: beautiful airport, paved roads, and a new public bus system that's a traveler's dream. Cancun's a Must-See. The turquoise Caribbean sea contrasts against the white sand and takes your breath away--as do the huge, jagged concrete blocks they've tossed at the base of the shoreline, to prevent coastal erosion. WARNING: visit Cancun, just don't expect to actually get in the ocean there, because when you're a BGWBK (Big Girl With Bad Knees), you drown.

I'm not kidding, I nearly expired on my vacation, and if I hadn't sucked down three of those kickin' margaritas right before I decided to take a dip in the ocean, the pain from my impromptu body surfing episode would have killed me!

My near-death experience happened like this: right at the exact spot where you'd normally step onto soft sand and wriggle your toes at a little fishy, a brutal churling wave comes at you full-tilt, every seven-to-nine seconds, and you're body-slammed against those jagged concrete blocks and sucked under the ocean. It's only a foot deep, but standing is impossible, and so is getting out!

In lieu of standing, I did some major butt-surfing, and let's review that despite the high quality of my new Big Girl Swimwear, for days I picked crushed seashell fragments out of places where no seashell had gone before. My so-called "friends" with strong knees bobbed blithely over the jagged rocks; they waved at me, unaware that I was about to slip into Davy Jones' locker.

I couldn't yell for help, because the surf's so loud (hello! 3-ton concrete blocks and relentless pounding waves!) nobody can distinguish your desperate pleas from their own laughter, at the sight of a Big Girl Sea Monster Decorated in Seashell Body Art. Every inch I gained in slurpy, sharp sand was lost as another tidal wave slammed my booty.

The oh-so-interesting factoid here is that you don't see any of the locals getting in the ocean. In fact, they string gigantic knotted ropes out into the sea, every 100 yards or so, for the precise purpose of rescuing sidetracked (drunk) turistas. Point taken!

While I performed my Big Girl Body Surfing Demonstration, the Lifeguard enjoyed his siesta, until a group of Japanese businessmen stopped photographing my "act" long enough to get his attention and rescue me.

You haven't lived until you've been pulled from the depths of the sea by three hotel workers with ropes. I've always dreamed of being lassoed by a cowpoke, but this truly wasn't what I had in mind. The only saving grace was that upon my immediate return to a chaise lounge, I received a complimentary tequila, a dry towel, and a coupon for a free massage. My cuts and bruises were the buzz of the breakfast buffet, and Diego poured me extra-strong drinks at the swim-up bar, all week long. The next evening, the Japanese businessmen spotted me in the hotel lobby, and asked for my autograph, among other things--no doubt if you speak Japanese, you can surf the Internet and find a photo of me, reenacting The Birth of Venus, in Cancun. Big Girls, steer clear of Body Surfing, at all costs!

© 2007 Bunkie Lynn