That cheering sound, muffled slightly with a hint of congestion, is coming from the House of jane.
The plague has left us.
Four days of rest and sleep and America's Next Top Model marathons and Chinese take out (mmmm... pan fried dumplings) are totally good for what ails you. Or me, actually.
Back to normal.
And how did we celebrate the end of the plague that temporarily felled Casa de jane?
With our first trip to the beach of the summer.
It's here, baby. The season of sand and surf and trashy novels and lazzzzzzzzzziness.
We like to go in time for sunset. Not too hot, a beautiful view and the crowds of the day have dispersed.
Or so I thought.
Man, was our usual little corner of the sand crowded last night. Holiday hours brought everyone out. And they were everywhere. Wearing everything. And some things they shouldn't have been.
Let's just say the monokini should totally be Paris Hilton's domain. Just because it's a one-piece doesn't mean it's for everyone. And lest you think I'm being harsh, I'm a girl who is fully aware of her body flaws and features and makes sure her swimwear accommodates them. My thighs -- so not on display. My boobs -- highlight, highlight, highlight.
And you're crazier than Britney before the intervention if you think I'm going to ever have a photographic example of my immediate previous statement. Just take my word for it. Thank yew.
Then there were the shellers. Walking head down, tuchus often aloft, looking at the ground in front of them, waiting to see if the tide brings in any of mother nature's jewelry worth keeping. It was so bad last night that I had a showdown with some guy in a Lou's Tavern t-shirt from someplace in Kansas over a shell.
Kid you not.
I was futzing right at the water's edge; he was on the move with his tight-permed wife. The tide turned up what seemed to be a fairly in-tact shell. And like two policemen reaching for the last glazed, we both went for it at the same time. I conceded, caving in thanks to my chamber of commerce conscience. Only to have him chuck it away into the water as he continued his stroll.
Tourists. (make sure you read that with a hint of disdain, as that's how it was written...)
Will loves our little jaunts. Walking in the water and playing CRASH! into the waves as they hit the beach. And making sandballs and throwing them. Have no idea who taught him that.
No pictures this time, as the mister forgot to tell me that the camera needed batteries. (The one I used here -- from last summer. Better than nothing.)
Don't get me started on that one. Grrrrrrr. He's got two hands and knows where the batteries are located. Why do I have to be the one...
Wait. Serenity Now. Ah, better. Sigh.
So the season of frozen drinks and sand in my car and flip-flops (and Mad Men starting in July!) is here, y'all.
Check your SPF, make sure it's high enough to do some good, and let's go!
(my apologies to the band ABC -- who I'm going to see in VEGAS, BABY! later this summer -- for the very bad pun in the header.
Hey! It's dark o'clock in the morning. You try being witty at this hour. Not so easy, eh?)