Uh-oh.

It's my nephew Jakob's 3rd birthday on Sunday, and his parents are taking him to Boracay this weekend along with his grandmamma and Tita Bee (that's me). The last time I was anywhere near sun and sand was two years ago when I piled four friends into a borrowed van and took off for the private beach in Bantigue, where our quiet weekend was marred by the sudden onset of the rainy season, which then triggered a swarm of flying brown bugs that converged wherever there happened to be a lighted electric bulb.

Looks like my bad luck has risen to the occasion once again. Not only is my ankle still functioning below normal standards; I am presently dealing with a bad cough and often to be found hacking like I'm about to eject my tonsils onto the floor. Additionally, my sudden appetite for cheap msg-laden cheese rings and an unwillingness to answer text messages can mean only one thing; my period is just around the corner.

There goes any chance of sashaying out of the clear blue water a la Ursula Andress in Dr.No; or running along the shore a la Bo Derek in 10. All I see is me falling asleep on the beach after I've helped myself to enough cough syrup to fell a horse, and then waking up two hours later buried in the sand by a three-year old with a plastic trowel.