It’s a beautiful day and we’re spending it on the beach. That’s nice but it’s not awesome if you’re me. Don’t get me wrong, I like being on the beach but I get sunburned shoveling snow in January. My shaved head is lathered and has a baseball cap on it. I have a Julia Child basting a chicken amount of SPF 4000 on my entire body. I have an entourage of three each carrying an over-sized umbrella to cast a shadow twenty feet around me. And I have a cabana boy fanning the sand in front of me to cool it down before my arrival.
So, yeah, I love the beach.
My girlfriend likes to toss around the Frisbee. She also has this habit of tossing it seven kilometers away from me so she can watch my gazelle like countenance dart across the sand. Of course, that was then. Now that I’m old, it’s more like a Zell like unformed shape a cracking and a popping and a huffing and a puffing across a tiny swath of sand hoping not to sweat off one dollop of sunscreen.
We’re just hanging out, breaking a law or two, having a fun beach day. One of the things we like to do is, of course, people watch. You see all sorts on the beach. Some you wish you hadn’t but that’s part of the fun. I was once on a tropical island when this Buddy Hackett looking guy came up to me and asked me a question. My eyes were closed as he approached so I hope you can imagine my surprise to first see his dick. Now I didn’t expect that on a clear Monday morning. Later that same day I walked into a beach bar and saw two women sitting on the same normal sized chair and they weren’t touching. They were so thin they had to be tethered to the bar so they didn’t blow away in the gentle breeze.
My girl and I are walking down the beach talking about current events.
“Did you see the bathing suit on that woman?” My girlfriend asked about a woman inappropriately wearing a Junior Miss one piece.
“Yeah.” I said.
You can’t get more current than that.
During our walk we happened upon a guy sleeping on a beach chair. He looked rather comfortable except for one minor detail.
“Are that guy’s balls hanging out?” I inquire.
At this my girlfriend stopped. Being a medical professional she had to assess the situation. Once she did her intake she responded with a rousing,
“Yes.” Then we went on our merry way.
What else could we do? Sure I could have approached the dude but how do I broach this subject?
“Excuse me, fine sir, but while strolling down the beach just now I couldn’t help but notice at least one of your testicles has become, how does one say? Unmoored.”
I’ve done a lot of things but this one was a little outside my area of expertise. I’ve told friends things have been untoward with their personal vessel but walking up to a stranger and saying,
“Dude, your balls are going to look like fried meatballs if you don’t jam ’em back in your shorts.”
Has many potential outcomes but not one I could imagine coming out fine for me.
So we walked on figuring a friend would come back from the water and toss a towel over him or, after taking a few pictures, wake him to let him know. Or maybe someone around him would make sounds to wake him so he can gently take care of business.
I also gave thought to some of the sunburns I’ve had and did shiver thinking what would have happened if any of them contained my balls. I don’t think the medical profession advises one to tear a layer of skin off ones scrotum. Would be an interesting story though.
About twenty minutes later we’re heading back. Now I know you may find this hard to believe but I almost forgot to check on ball boy. I know, if it was you you’d be able to think of nothing else for the next week. But weird shit happens around me all the time and this was just another one.
But, at the last minute, I did remember so shot him a quick glance.
He is going to be one unhappy camper tonight.