Beaches

Friday afternoon, one of my buddies called me from the beach beseeching me to rescue her from a thorny situation with an ex-paramour. Inside of an hour, I rented a car, threw on my Superwoman sarong and drove to the beach. I should have looked at a map; I would have realized that the beach is farther than I realized.

My trip to Santa Rosa Beach was 85% country roads, as evidenced by the horses, cows, one lane no-passing highways and cotton fields that I saw en route. Personally, I am not one for night driving or long-distance driving. That’s probably why I drove like the Klan was riding at sundown. It was a very prayerful trip: I prayed that Sheriff Cuzin wouldn’t pull me over. I r-e-a-l-l-y prayed when that empty gas indicator decided to illuminate my dashboard and that was the ONLY form of light for miles and miles around.

I did arrive safely and unfortunately Thorny Situation left before I had a chance to meet him. Too bad. My girl and I had a wonderful time in a graciously donated beach rental, Van Gogh’s View. It was a two bedroom, two bathroom, fully upgraded kitchen, 4 minute turtle walk to the beach dream. Thank you again, Thorny Situation.

My girl welcomed me with a nice meal and wine. We talked, laughed and caught up with each other. Then we retired early to prepare for a full day of beach chillin. Well my sleep was interrupted by a phone call. It was Truculent Caribbean. At first, I welcomed the sexy Caribbean voice because it reminds me of home. I love the cadence of a Caribbean accent and it touches me like a soft chenille throw on a cool autumn evening. It makes my soul smile. Until I listened to the words. You have gottah be effin kidding me.

The drunk dial. Let me first apologize to anyone I have ever drunk dialed. I now know how you feel. It’s ugly. This call was no different. Ugly and belligerent. Fortunately, it had nothing to do with me. I was a victim merely by being the last dialed number. I finally calmed Trusay down and he got home safely. I’m still waiting on an apology for the verbal assault.

Maybe he called Saturday to apologize. As fate would have it, Saturday morning at the beach, I got knocked over by a wave while attempting to pick up a shell. My phone fell in the ocean. It is now dead. I do relish the anonymity that a new phone and new, unpublicized number brings.

The rest of the weekend was spent eating smart, relaxing with reckless abandon and taking in sun. I was born to live on the beach with the sun caressing my skin and a fresh breeze whispering on my neck. I scoff in the face of those who don’t like roasted chestnut zaftigs.