“back to porridge” – K.E.B.Dinsmore, author’s grandmother
In spite of the airline’s gate agents at the Fort Lauderdale, Florida airport apparently oblivious to confusion they themselves generated, we got back to San Diego – and reality – last night. (The terminal “Departures” board displayed our flight as “DELAYED” but no mention was made by agent nor the phone app of this. All the passengers made calls and wandered the airport for a now-3 hour wait to fly home. When queried by a passenger for an updated arrival time in San Diego, the agent responded there was NO delay, and explained with “oh, that’s a glitch on the board”. Two hundred irritated passengers hurriedly made re-re-scheduled pick up plans.)
But there is nothing quite like coming home. We exchanged hand-sanitizer- armed maitre’ds, rooms cleaned twice-daily, and a Royal Caribbean Lines maintenance staff unobtrusively working around the clock, for unpacking, walking the dogs and chores that I must do today. That aside, the backed-up plumbing definitely means my Caribbean vacation has ended. 
As my grandmother who first showed me, when I accompanied her to Britain in the early 1970s, the kind of special attention, quality dining, and elegant vacations that were possible, the cruise line catering was equally exceptional. But the fine living only continues for royal families and billionaires. The rest of us come home to chores, commuting and bills. Yet, we are already looking at an adventure a year from now while my wife and I drink our instant coffee and eat a bowl of shredded wheat. Somehow, I cannot bring myself to eat porridge this morning, I want the ‘royal treatment’, darn it.
It's a Dog's Life 