Making Love to Spaghetti

I'm tired. Not sleepy tired. Not tired as in I worked long and hard today - even though I did. I'm wandering in the desert for 40 years tired. I'm the kind of tired that some poor soul in China must have experienced as he put the last brick into the Great Wall, and then his slave master said, "Now do the other side."
Tired from a long semester. Tired from working two jobs. Tired from cleaning house. Tired from my self-imposed Draconian adherence to my Atkins diet. Tired from my son's extracurricular activities: basketball, baseball, Cub Scouts, etc. The kind of tired any parent can understand, but that (for the most part at least) only active, single parents can truly appreciate. The kind of tired where you want to go to sleep on Friday and not wake up until Monday - weekend be damned!
But I can sustain this kind of tired because there is a vacation in sight - in fewer than 30 days no less. I will be relaxing aboard a Carnival cruise ship. I just have a simple warning to other passengers:
On the first day, I intend to drink my weight in Spiced Rum. Then I am going to strip down to my underwear and dive onto the buffet bar. I am going to frolic with the pizza, make love to the spaghetti, fornicate with French bread, commit adultery with mashed potatoes. I am going to roll on my back and make carb angels in the banana pudding. I may belch loudly before passing out and sleeping a good 32 hours straight right on the buffet. You can either just pick around my comatose body or else go eat at one of the grills on another deck. It really doesn't concern me.
When I have slept and eaten enough to satisfy even the Mongol hordes, I will get up, pick the noodles off my by then globular body, and return to laying bricks in the other side of the Great Wall - all the while singing the Mr. Rogers theme song.