Dear owner of Whale of a Time Water and Theme Park,

Thank you so much for our recent stay at your Theme Park. As you well know, this was our first Christmas without my late husband. Also, being spared from watching the parade of holiday revelers as they attend my crazy bitch neighbor’s Christmas Eve Fete is a blessing. She sees me watching all of her parties with tears running down my face. She knows I’m all alone and I personally, I don’t feel that mistakenly serving my husbands medicinal brownies to her guests at last year’s x-mas festivities deserves social banishment for all eternity. I mean it was the best party EV-er. Oh, I’m laugh/crying inside just thinking of it. Her husband was totally humping the coffee table to Wu Tang Clan’s Stop the Breaks. And he did INSIST that I punch her in the face for flushing the remaining brownies down the toilet. Oh, oh, oh god, it was classic. CLASSIC! … unless of course you are a crazy bitch.

So, let it be said, that your decision to inspire hope and excellence in your other guests at Whale of a Time by having my daughter and I attend your Holiday celebrations, was a wonderful distraction for us and will undoubtedly create a ripple of good karma in the all mighty universe. The look of complete desperation on the faces of so many of your guests, no doubt at having to spend so much concentrated ‘quality family time’, melt away while in my presence warmed my heart for at least 30 seconds after departing. Well done, Whale of a Time!

That being said, I would be remiss not to give you some much needed feedback that will surely lead to the betterment of the business that you obviously began in order to make up for some painful, unfulfilled childhood dream. I mean, honestly, it is so glaringly apparent, I am a little embarrassed on your behalf. Behind every Whale Of A Time there is always a gaping chasm of juvenile misery. I can’t imagine any other fathomable logic for the vulgar overcompensation that comes with the creation of such a “resort”. I say this freely as I am certain your psychiatrist (don’t be coy we all know there is one…) has pointed it out to you on several occasions. If not, you should seriously think about making a change in analysts. If there is one thing I’ve learned from my husband’s untimely passing, it is that life is short. We must not waste it telling ourselves lies or candy coating our defects just to make us feel better. Best to own up to our shortcomings now so that we may live in the light and wisdom of the universe as the glorious beings of love that we truly are. I am a living testament to this philosophy…although I skipped the whole part about owning up to defects and shortcomings. I simply have none!

Let us begin with the front lobby. There is a variety of dust that I have, until stepping foot in your establishment, only encountered in one other place, the dilapidated manor of my Grand Mamma Du Lac in the heat of the New Orleans summer. The kind of dust that blends with extreme humidity, old people dead skin cells and a particular facial cream that keeps them guessing for all the wrong reasons. It is more of a dust paste, if you will that trust me, I know is near impossible to remove. I heard all about it from Grand Mamma’s partner, Gene, I believe was her name, or Hairy-ette or Pat, something or other. Gamma would never divulge what business it was that they were in together but my Lord, she was good to her despite her rather unfortunate taste in footwear. She looked on her with such a sparkle in her eye…so Pat, we’ll call her, she was some sort of chemical genius. She finally found, and I am imparting this wisdom to you free of charge, that a combination of lye, eucalyptus and formaldehyde worked wonders on this dust. I would have her mix you a sample but she blew up along with the shed out back that she used as her laboratory. I love that word! La-BOR-atory. It just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? La-Bore-atory.

Might I also request, for the love of God, without exception that men wear shirts while dining. Let’s be honest, there is enough flaccid flesh hanging about the Water Park and environs, to keep Buffalo Bill buying vats of lotion till the end of his days! “It puts the lotion on its back,” indeed!! Removing the image of great swaths of epidermis being coated in the privacy of each guest’s room with your complimentary Rosemary Body Butter makes my esophagus contract filling my mouth with bile. Your entire establishment was saturated with the smell of ripe body odor and baking focaccia bread. I should note that you do not serve focaccia bread and that the choice of herbed lotion is most unfortunate. The standard no shirt – no service rule should improve your situation at least somewhat.

The rooms were nice enough.

Let’s now assume that everyone can get their shirts on and sit down for a meal. I think it would behoove you to drop the ‘y’ at the end of all food items and perhaps serve some actual food. Case in point the ‘cheese-y’ pizza. The grilled ‘steak-y’ with ‘onion-y’ sauce. The ‘tomato-y’ pasta, the ‘broccoli-y’ broccoli. This will serve your soul but trust me the body oil infused soup cauldron called a Jacuzzi where many of your guests are under the delusion that human gas bubbles will go unnoticed, might actually become a relaxing, less toxic olfactory experience for the over stressed guest.

I liked the wave pool.

While we are discussing the water park, a witnessed a peculiar habit amongst the adults only, under the rather lovely poolside waterfall. Well it would have been lovely, had grown people, men in particular decided that standing under the waterfall with their arms stretched out to their sides and their heads poking forward, as the water cascaded over their shoulders was a substitute for a clearly much needed trip to the spa for a massage. One man in particular stood there for a good eight hours with an intense far away look in his eyes. His visage was not assisted by his thick uni-brow and close set eyes His forceful expression only modulated in intensity with the slow raising and lowering of his arms. I was about to contact security, when his wife stopped by. His expression transformed to a typical dad/father as he momentarily spoke with her about one thing or another. She left and he returned to the falls sporting the countenance of one who is attempting to part the seas while constipated. I think a simple sign asking people to not pause under the falls would be a quick fix that is greatly needed.

The sight of all the children gathering for nightly story time in the lobby wearing their soft flannels while clinging to their lovies is quite charming indeed! It is unfathomable that one should even have to set an age limit for this sort of behavior but set it you must! Grown men, with protruding bellies and sloping narrow shoulders should know better than to wear horizontally striped footy pjs at all, let alone in public. I don’t care how passive aggressively angry he might be with his wife and children for making him come on this god-awful vacation. He cannot be allowed to wander amongst the guests in such a state. This cannot be! It is a crime against humanity and stop it you must!!

So, in a word, thank you kindly proprietor. Thank you for being smart enough to have me grace Whale of a Time. It was the least I could do considering the up hill battle you have clearly faced in life. I am moved by your tenacity. What an inspiration you are! I can only imagine what sort of theme park your unending despair will dream up next and let me just say, I’ll be first in line to warm the hearts of your guests (in exchange for an all inclusive stay and a $10,000 restaurant/spa voucher.)

Are you single?

Kindly,

Super Widow

Winner of the Gwith oT Waf Aef