For any of you women out there who are uncomfortable with dining alone or going to a movie alone or you know…just being alone?

Try this.

I am at The Rendezvouz, a couples-only resort in St. Lucia. Doesn’t that sound romantic?

What if you’re by yourself in that big four-poster queen-size?

It is a good thing I have honed the art of being alone, and in fact, quite treasure being by myself. (Don’t get me wrong, this would be a lot better with my lovely husband. But he’s home and I’m here).

I believe the average bear-ette might be a little daunted at the endless tables for two, filled like Noah’s ark with pair upon pair of hetereo-glassy-eyed-lovers. There is one exception. One of those tables for two has only moi.

I can almost see the balloon-thoughts above the heads of all the couples.

They must be fighting.

I wonder if he died and she just came anyway?

Do you think they got a divorce but she’d already paid for the trip?

Why the hell is that woman sitting there with a journal and a coffee and a smile?

More likely, it’s like the ol’ adage: Don’t worry about what people think about you…because they don’t.

Because here’s the other thing about this place. Last night, I was asking the general manager if she could organize a meeting with this person or that…something to give me a local colour story, or a cultural icon or whatever she could come up with.

And you know what? Something else happened altogether, that is everyone stuck to the original itinerary,  and I sincerely hope she forgets my request because unlike most press trips, no one has organized my life within an inch of itself. Instead I am doing what everyone else is doing (well almost everything, the rest of these couples are doing, but stay with me here) and that is RELAXING.

Holy Smokes. I’ve been reading while lying by the pool, had a lomi-lomi Hawaiian massage this morning and  just woke up from a little nap.

I get it. I get why people would come to a tropical isle and loll about. I like the set-up here. I walked back from dinner last night and the buzzing and cricketing and insect mayhem was like someone had cranked a jungle soundtrack to ten. Magnificent.

The humidity is wonderful, creating a languid torpor that makes me feel very cat-like and when the clouds finally burst, the resulting downpour was like a wonderful scene from a Bogart movie with slapping palms and warm rivers in place of the sidewalks.

I might never leave. Could someone please send my husband a ticket?