We spend five minutes imagining the retiree couple that would enjoy the room. We photograph it and agree it looks even more depressing in the photos. Then we call the front desk. Or, rather, Kate does. I have faith.

Faith and $95 more dollars a night gets us a pleasant, ocean-view room. Budget travel is all about the rationalizations; that's $95 a night we won't spend in search of a better view. We're on the beach with drinks by 11 A.M.

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7 P.M.

I think the first delicious lobster quesadilla came at noon, along with the second round of margaritas. Things become a little blurry after that, but we do meet a charming hotel employee named Brian who conducts our first of many photo sessions. It's amazing how many photos a man will take if requested by two women in bathing suits surrounded by margarita glasses.

I call my husband from the room--our glorious, non-old-person room--and he asks how the drinking is going. "Oh," I say, embarrassed, "I think we had about seven..."

Husband: "Not each, though, right?"
Me: "Uhm, yeah. Of course not! Not each."

9 A.M.

Dinner was room service with a bottle of wine, and we both wake up early with nearly full glasses on the night stand. In the interest of a budget travel conservation mindset, I take a bunch of things out of the minibar that I know we won't want--energy drinks, juice, regular Coke--and precariously balance the half-full wine bottle on what's left.

Oh, and then there was our early wake-up. The one around 3 A.M., during which we sent photos, including one of me and the old-person room's microwave, to friends with no context offered.

The paper is flipped through but not read. This trip was not designed to expand our intellects.

Kate calls her husband, and he too asks for a drinking report.

Kate: "Seven."
Husband: "One an hour? Not bad."

We love our husbands very much.

Day two: More lobster quesedillas