Thursday, July 1, 2010

My Day - Recounted in Such a Way as to Not Follow Chronology or Even Linear Logic

My day was pure bliss.

It may have something to do with the fact that it's No Pre-Schoolers Allowed Week, but then again, it may not. I'll never tell.

Today was my belated birthday day. And I got to choose.

And I chose this.

It's a big deal, because Cory loathes sand and oceans and the sun. And even though this was Lake Michigan, it was eerily similar to something oceanic.

But it was my day, and it was my pick.

What could be more relaxing and romantic than a kid-free day at the beach?

And does the romantic factor diminish when I tell you that once our feet hit the sand, we parted ways for the next 2+ hours?

It was necessary for Cory's general demeanor that he seek shade. And it was necessary for my demeanor to bask. And, you know, if you love someone, set them free.

Good news - he came back.

But I'm getting ahead of myself here...

Let me tell you something you probably didn't know about my husband. If he stumbles upon a relaxing, kid-free day of reading in the shade, he is a happy man. He's so happy that he will grab this book and throw it in the beach bag, like it's a normal thing to do. And he's already read it thrice.

I nearly fell out when I saw that book. At first glance, I thought it was my Personality Theories textbook from college. Oh no, that would've been far too gripping. He's more into fluffy, beach reads featuring dead-and-gone theologians.

But who am I to judge?

I opted for US Weekly, even though I banned it two years ago following a particularly nasty cover story. I am not ashamed to admit that I am a sucker for all things Bachelor related. A savvy girl knows when to walk away from a principled ban.

I flew through the mag and moved on to this book and I am in love. I haven't the foggiest notion how I will possibly get a blasted thing done around here, now that I've started reading.

As a matter of fact...Goodbye! I'll be back in a few days.

Just joshing.

Whilst reading, I enjoyed a rousing round of eavesdropping. What's a girl to do? Here's what I gathered - there was a young married couple along with another youngish guy who is engaged to a girl whose name I am too honorable to disclose. She was not present. An additional girl was present and said guy greeted her warmly with a hug, then, when she disrobed (so to speak) he said, and I quote, "Now that's a cute little suit!" He also asked her to rub sunscreen on his back, proclaiming, "I'm not married yet!" In closing, he bragged about the size of the engagement ring he procured for Jane Doe. Ri-ve-ting.

I kept thinking, "Surely I'm not the only one here who sees that this guy is not ready to marry..." Then I decided that the only possible solution is that the married couple invited the other girl to join them because they are worried that Flirty Pants is headed down that all-too-familiar road of doom and destruction. They didn't know what else to do. They had hope that he was smart enough to see the writing on the wall.

He's not smart enough. Fraid not. I know these things.

AND...just as they were leaving, I realized that I knew the married guy. Well, knew of him, but still! Who woulda???

All the while, unbeknownst to me, my buns and overall backside were being burned to a crisp.

I'm in a world of hurt. It hurts to walk. Hurts to sit. Hurts to breath.

Of all the life lessons I have learned, this is not one of them. Every Summer, I suffer one burn. I know, I know. I know! I really do.

Except I clearly don't.

While Cory left me solo to roast on my spit and dine on Pretzel M&Ms, he took some pictures. It's true, he was the creepy, aloof dude on the beach, taking pictures of the "landscape".

So creepy, I tell you.

Oh, you wanna talk creepy? Try running into a statue of a dog wearing a freak-show of a dog costume.

Why can't they all be Charlie?

(It burns! It burns so badly!)

Prior to our encounters with dog statues representing various degrees of creepy, we ate at my favorite beach-town deli. I cannot for the life of me resist the veggie bagel with scallion cream cheese. And the fountain coke may have had just a tiny smidge of real coke in it. There was something in there. It was the best coke on the street.

It was so good, I took it to go, and for anyone who knows me, I'm a very low-volume drinker.

PS - Bad news. This is what I look like when my husband takes me out for the day.

On our way to lunch, on our way to the beach, we stopped by a quaint little fruit stand.

And bought some cherries.

(Why is it that the raspberries always get all the glory?)

And before that, we drove for miles without even turning the radio on. We kept the windows down. I asked Cory if he thought those people might call today and make an offer on our house.

It was heaven, this day.

(I'm on fire here, people!)