I woke up this morning and, just as I do every morning, grabbed my coffee and laptop and headed out to the lanai to read the news and e-mail. Not 15 minutes into this little hour-long ritual – the only time I get completely to myself in a day – the beach in front of me was flooded with camera men, make-up artists and gorgeous bikini-clad girls. The Coors Light people – who’ve shot at least a half-dozen print ads on my beach since I’ve moved here – are at it again.

Oh, sure. To some of you it may sound like heaven.

But as for me, I’m wearing my favorite ratty tank-top and boxer shorts stolen from my husband, with full-on bed-head, and exuding the peculiar smell you can only acquire after a long night’s sleep in a house in the tropics without air-conditioning on a night when the “low” was 85 degrees with 90% humidity. I’m half-way through my first cuppa when one of the gorgeous, bikini-clad women scampers up to the steps of the lanai and, fluttering her recently mascaraed lashes, asks “Would it be possible for me to use your womens’ room?”

Womens’ room. Yeah, right. How many people do you know that have separate bathrooms in their homes for each of the sexes.

So, being polite and all, I point her toward the bathroom and she bounces inside. Five minutes later she emerges, all perfect smile and perfect hair and thanks me in a perfectly awful high-pitched “girly girl” voice before bouncing back to the photo shoot which, lucky for me, wraps up within minutes. Perfect!

Except that in the meantime, I realize that I have not yet brushed my teeth so I head to the same bathroom and what do I find?

The bitch didn’t even flush.