1. As I was sitting at the beach the other day, a pretty young lady in a striped bikini decided to spread her beach towel out directly in front of me. Now, the bikini was one of the smallest articles of clothing I have ever seen from the front. And when she turned around and exposed her backside, well, she exposed her backside.  The bathing suit simply disappeared.

Now, this young woman laid down on her blanket, sunny-side up, letting old Sol just shine down on her amazing front.  And, for the next half hour, she continually tugged and pulled and seemingly tried to stretch the top and bottom of the bikini to cover more area of her breasts and…the devil’s playground.

Of course, she was unsuccessful. There was only so much of the material to be had. But, undeterred, all while she laid there, she kept tugging at the sides.

After about thirty minutes of this, she suddenly jumped up and ran down to the water to play in the surf.  At that point, I turned to Mary Ellen and said, “Why the hell didn’t she just buy a bigger suit to begin with?”

I don’t get it.

 

2. The next day, we were again at the beach.  It was a mite blustery, so the beach wasn’t as populated as usual.  We picked out a patch of sand close to the water and away from people. We wanted semi-privacy, and we had it for a long time.

And then…the Clampetts showed up.

I spotted them coming about a quarter-mile down the beach. They were carrying their beach umbrella, their coolers, their towels, their chairs, and their assorted beach toys.
Much to our dismay, they kept coming closer and closer.  Finally, when they were about three feet in front of us,  Jethro dropped his cooler in the sand and said, “This looks like a good spot!”

I looked around. There were vast, empty stretches of wide open spaces on all sides of us, and these…folks…decided to plunk their butts down in the sand so close to us that we could see the gaps in their teeth.

They all huddled in close to each other on their blankets, but, from the decibel level of their conversations with each other, you’d think they were a half-mile apart. And every noun that they uttered was graced with some derivative of the gerund, “fucking.” Fucking sand, fucking bugs, fucking seagulls, fucking waves, fucking wind.  It seemed that every aspect of nature was fornicating!

WHEEEEEEE Doggies!

Then, they broke out the Budweiser long necks. (The beach was supposed to be alcohol-free.) And, I swear, Jethro, when he couldn’t twist the cap off his beer, used his teeth as a bottle opener.

I stared at them in utter amazement as they smoked their Lucky Strikes, chugged their Buds, and spoke often and loudly about all of nature procreating right in front of them.

After about twenty minutes of this spectacle, Mary and I were just about to pack up our things and move to a more secluded part of the beach. And then, the Clampetts became victims of their own stupidity. Jed, (Bless his big, mountain heart!) for some reason known only to himself, decided to throw a potato chip up and into the wind.

You know what happens when you throw food into the air at a beach?

Birds. That’s what happens!

Suddenly, the air was so thick with squawking, screeching seagulls that they blocked the sun. These critters began dive-bombing  the hillbillies like komikazi planes at Pearl Harbor. In the midst of the attack, Jethro stood up and began swinging a beach towel crazily in the air to ward off the birds, but all he managed to do was send sand flying into Ellie’s beer and Granny’s face. Then, when he connected with a direct hit on the bag of potato chips Jed was holding, the contents of the bag scattered everywhere, and the frenzy of the gulls reached a fever pitch! As I watched, all four of the hillbillies disappeared inside a blur of white and gray feathered wings.

After a minute or two, it appeared that the fury of the birds wasn’t going to let up. So Jed, as head of the household, made an executive decision. He suddenly went scrambling for his belongings and bellowed, “Every man for himself!” Then he high-tailed it down the beach with the rest of the motley crew in tow.

Within three minutes of the Clampett’s departure, nature settled down once again. Two minutes after that, it was as if the hillbillies were never there.

Y’all come back now. Ya hear?

Mary Ellen then went back to her novel, and I went back to my sun worshipping.