Beach Balls

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.

Dueling Grandfathers

A guy is chatting about his grandfather. He tells me his grandfather’s glass eye used to freak him out.

 

Without thinking I said, “That’s nothing, my grandfather had a glass leg and wooden eye.”

A Day At The Beach

We were at one of those beach side bars enjoying the day as we often do on our days off. The sun was rippling off the water causing diamond like glitters throughout. A smooth and cool breeze caused the high shimmering sun to brush gently off my face. We were far enough away from the water so the splashing waves seemed like comforting murmuring conversation. A couple of kids ran down the street excited that they’re sure they saw a shark.

I know if you close your eyes you can transport there and enjoy the moment. Nice, isn’t it?

But if you do, I’ll have to add one more piece to the summertime puzzle.

And their names were Bethany and Madison who were also enjoying this pleasant summer day by ruining it for everyone within a fifty yard radius.

Sadly for me I was at ground zero for the onslaught. At first, because they were sitting next to us, people turning around to give them the stink eye thought there was a possibility we were with this backing up dump truck of a duo. They were ‘ON VACATION!’ and they sure as hell going to let everyone know. Every member of the wait staff who walked past tried to make a subtle, laid back attempt to take the bewailing to a level more befitting this serene scene.

But even the manager walking over and, still gently, chiding them to chill they let him know this was their well-earned vacation and they were going to express themselves freely. They were young, dumb and, potentially later that evening, full of strangers cum and they wanted everyone to know it. They were here to strut their stuff and Rupaul would have nothing on them. I was keeping an eye on them because of the level of activity going on.

They were going through their bags pulling everything out slamming it on the bar. One of them (sorry, they looked so much alike I couldn’t tell which one was Bethany and which one was Madison) made sure to slap down a platinum credit card so the staff could see her father was someone who wanted her out so much he’d give her a ‘go anywhere’ card. And I know it was from him because I could read her name and the company was named Michael The Same Last Name As Bethany, Inc. Paying attention (or as some people would call it snooping) is a vital skill in my world.

Finally the manager knew he had to do something. How did he finally know? A four-top and two other couples pretty much got up at the same time to leave. Even he knows four middle aged customers are going to spend more than a pair of Bethany’s and Madison’s. He walks up to them, puts his hands on the bar, leans in gently and says nothing because Bethany jumped right in with a full blown,

“What the fuck do you want?” The manager just stands there. I guess that’s a reaction new to him. But she’s not done. “If we’re bothering you so much we’ll just fucking leave this piece of shit and never come back.” The manager is still standing there probably thrilled that they themselves were actually going to bounce themselves out of his establishment. Bethany picks up her 75% full  frozen beverage and starts pounding it.

And it was as frightening as you’d expect.

Fluid was dribbling down both sides of her cheeks. Gobs from each side caught up and puddled in her deep suprasternal notch. It was like watching a dog trying to drink water that’s sprayed from a hose. Without taking a breath she polished off the icy contents. I figured she wouldn’t get a frozen headache because that malady erupts in brains and she’s showed no evidence of having formed one of those.

“Good enough for you?” She sneers as ice particles melt off her face and drip to the floor. While this was going on the fast thinking bartender grabbed daddy’s credit card and swiped it to hasten this journey.

She stands up as the bartender comes back with a few napkins and the credit card bill. Bethany sneers at the bill as if their mishandling of this situation is the cause of her self-inflicted consternation. She quickly doodled on the check ignoring the napkins as a dollop of beverage fell where the ‘t’ should have been in her name.

She looks at her face in the mirror and sees that it’s not only wet it’s streaked the color of her drink. She looks at the bartender, still holding napkins, then the manager before turning her head and wiping her cheeks and mouth on the sleeve of my t-shirt.

Yes, homicide was the first thought that passed my mind. I searched the bar for a nearby weapon. It must have been pretty obvious to anyone looking at me, excluding the clueless Bethany, of course, because the manager grabbed my elbow and started wiping my shoulder fairly vigorously. While holding down my arm with some force. I looked at him and nodded. He knew I wasn’t going to disembowel her with a lobster cracker. But I could have easily placed my hand on one. The bartender continued to move all objects off the bar as Bethany and Madison exited the bar complaining about how THEIR VACATION was now ruined.

With my target off my radar I calmed down quickly. The manager is still wiping my shoulder but I waved him off. Worse things have been wiped on me, believe me. After a few seconds of sitting there silently the entire place started laughing. Which allowed everyone a chance to ease the tension and slowly go back to enjoying this beautiful day.