I don’t wear a watch. I haven’t worn once in several years—probably since I got my first smartphone. This will interest exactly not one person, I realize. But it’s funny, this not wearing a watch thing. Because it’s only when you are taken out of your normal routine and environment that your mind even notices these things. Because I don’t wear a watch, when I was in St. Lucia—not carrying around my smartphone—I had no idea what time it was, ever. Sure, I was able to know that is was, say, midday, by the extreme boob sweat and the fact that the sun was noticeably quite high in the sky. I could totally be on Survivor.

So, I began tucking my phone into the pocket of my beach bag, mostly so I could periodically look up from my book du jour and say, hey, “I’m pretty sure it’s time for another beer!” or “It’s been three hours too many since I have had any sweet potato fries.”

And to snap the occasional shot.

Since I spent much of my days lounging in a beach chair, though, when I went to look at my photos I had saved in my trusty iphone, they all sorted of blended together into my very own game of HOT DOGS OR LEGS?

No. Really.

I don’t even know how this happened.

Sure, there was the occasional mostly awkward attempt at a selfie.

And the obligatory neener-neener-my-life-is-super-rough-right-now shot.

Bit mostly it was just hot dogs or legs as far as the eye could see.

Hot dogs?

Legs?

Hot dog legs?!

As someone who is firmly in the please don’t ever tweet/Facebook/instagram photos of your feet, I should almost feel ashamed of myself.

Really, though, I’m mostly just in awe of how tan my legs got over the week.

And how I should probably buy myself a watch.