Oh just a little yachting in the Adriatic

In case Julia runs our yacht into a rock this August and I never see you again, I want you to know that I died doing what I love.  Sipping champagne in my bikini, sunglasses sprayed with a fine salty mist,  cousins and best friend in hysterics at my well timed joking, and the hired skipper feeding me tiny sandwiches with the crusts cut off.

You know you want to be me right now.  Minus the rock accident.