lifeinthealong.com
repository for the occasional perambulatory rumination

May

11

Score Three for the Girls

Filed Under Ruminations

Today must be Hilton Head Island, SC, where Alison and I chose to celebrate her 30th birthday (today). Yes, you’re right: it’s a tough, tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.

We spent a goodly portion of the mid-day hours sitting between the volleyball court and the Tiki Hut Bar. (Have a new favorite drink: Lady Godivas. Yes, they’re a chick chill, but hey, set the name aside and you, too, might enjoy some ice cream blenderized with chocolate schnaaps - did I spell that right? It’d be the first thing I spelled right today.)

I tried to write something meaningfully reflective about today, but for the life of me, I can’t get these particular images du jour out of my mind . . .

First there was the woman who, from the initial back view, looked to be old enough to have dated God. Then she turned and bless goodness if her breasts didn’t stick straight out, perfectly perpendicular to the floor. How that woman selectively defied gravity, I sure would like to know.

Then up comes this young woman - wearing what appeared to be cotton balls - tossing her VOV: Very Own Volleyball. She casually asked the 5 guys if there was room for one more player, and within 30 minutes, this female had a team of her own and was singlehanded beating the 5 males. It was a sight to behold, let me tell you what. I can only surmise that she had no interest in dating any of them.

They were batting that volleyball up and over and around, and all I could think of was (a) how yucky it must feel to have that much sand on your self and (b) how my wrists hurt just watching them. Then, to make myself feel better, I thought about my boy, Kipp, who is mending two - count them t-w-o - broken wrists. “Keeps on snowboarding, he’s gonna have more injuries than that,” Alison said when I told her what was on my mind.

I watched all these people on the beach - all sizes, all shapes - and I couldn’t help but notice how confidently, how comfortably some folks carried themselves than others, and I remembered how somebody was always telling me to stand up straight. (I was always folding myself into myself in an attempt to make me as small and inconspicuous as possible.)

I once read about how this woman was at a restaurant, treating herself to a bit of people watching. At one point she got up and went to the bathroom, and while she was in there, she began lamenting the perceived loss of sexiness. Moving her eyes back to her own image in the mirror, the stood a little straighter, exhaled deeply, and thought to herself, “I AM sexy. Yes, I am.” Then she finished drying her hands, squared her shoulders, and exited the bathroom. The way she tells the story, on her way back to the table, no less than 3 men tried some form of pick-up line on her.

I vowed to start with something short of sexy, so when I walked into the independently-owned this-’n-that store, I walked straight up to the old man behind the counter, looked him in the thick glasses, and asked, “What’s your return policy?”

“If I like you,” he said, “I’ll take it back.”

“Will you refund my money, too?” I asked.

“What are you returning?”

“A beach chair and umbrella.”

He took a sterner look about his mouth and said something about how they usually don’t return those at all “for obvious reasons.”

“I’m returning them for obvious reasons,” I said in return. (First tropical storm of the season - Andrea - joined us less than 12 hours after we arrived.)

Then I just stood there, presenting myself as confident that he would issue the refund. Minutes ticked off. I stood there. Being quiet, being confident.

“Better bring it back tonight,” he barked, “’cause I guarantee you they won’t take it back if you wait till tomorrow.”

I went back and finished our birthday drink, then returned the chair and umbrella without incident.

For a full refund.

Think and ye shall receive.

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