"Honey, we're going to snorkel for two weeks solid. Think you can stand the old man for that long?"
"Can we have a Christmas tree? You promised."
"I'll cut it myself."
"And a Christmas party too?"
"Might have to call it something else, but I suppose we can give it a try. If you keep up on the homework." I looked at her, failing as usual to understand the movements of her mind. "Sweetie, why do you want to throw a party? This is supposed to be a vacation."
"Dad, really. Don't you remember that neat boy from Sweden whose parents have that house across the bay? He was teaching me windsurfing last summer. He's in junior year now, but if he's there, we've got to have a party. Don't you understand?"
"Guess we'll have a party."
What can you do? Nobody said you're supposed to win them all.
Bad news, or maybe it was good news, travels with amazing speed in this day and age. The late edition of the Tuesday New York Post found its way to the Caribbean on an evening flight, and since it took us a while to get out of town, it actually reached the Virgin Islands shortly before we did. However, since we flew directly into St. Croix instead of the main island of St. Thomas, we missed the delivery.
As it happened, though, an old acquaintance was passing the house that night on a personal mission, and he was kind enough to drop off Rupert Murdoch's Tuesday contribution to journalism.