Happy Super Tuesday!
For those of you with the power to vote today, don't just sit there bidin' your time--make the right choice.
I am as subtle as a sledgehammer..
Who would think that two sturdy squares of wood would be my stairway to heaven?
This was more than a step stool.
A good night sleep..the most satisfying thing in the world, unless your mind is racing and you're on the toilet at 3:42 AM, taking hasty notes that you now have to decipher.
Last night felt tropical and islandesque. Gentle breezes, sounds of crashing waves and clinking glasses. Stars peppering the sky.The small stuff. The stuff that makes you glad your senses are still intact.
We sampled lots of local fare at the beach BBQ last night, but like all food in an urn, everything tasted the same..sweet or tangy, maybe savory,unidentifiable in the darkness.
Our hostess seated a couple at our seaside table that I noticed at the pool earlier in the day, and you couldn't help but notice them because they are the most beautiful couple I've ever laid eyes on. I whispered to Jim that I was convinced they were superstars--perhaps hip hop royalty--but by the time he looked up to confirm that, they were gone.
They were exquisite to look at, even more so when they spoke with beautiful accents(hers: British. His: Jamaican)
They weren't Beyonce and Jay Z but might as well have been. Shen is a poet, Sheena owns an Air B&B in London with him.
I could not stop drinking in their beauty, so don't ask too many questions, They have twin teenaged daughters..One can only imagine what they look like!
The beach party itself offered perfectly fine entertainment, geared toward a younger crowd who like things like corn hole and an open bar.
I liked all the music--the general pulse and beat of the crowd--but the air had a chill and the body had an "I'm tired--leave me alone!" vibe.
So we watched.
We watched a coked-up emcee and somebody dancing with fire. Dancing with it, swallowing it, sending it flowers the next morning.
The emcee goes on to entice the young drunkards to participate in a game where the winner could collect a prize valued at $100.00.
If it wasn't Gilmore Girl trivia(it wasn't) I wasn't going to leave the comfort of my chair.
The emcee hands out a white balloon to every couple and instructs them to blow it up to a desired size.
He tells the participants and the audience that a prize will be given to the couple that "most creatively" would make the ballon pop, a sound that has scared the living daylights out of me my whole life, worse than opening a can of Pop n Fresh biscuit dough.
Each couple had a minute of two to create a scenario that would end with the popping sound of the balloon.
Most couples would just bring the balloons to the judging station and make fart sounds--not even ones as loud as those I was making from the audience.
I think the winners(I couldn't see very well) were a guy who stuffed a fully inflated balloon under his t-shirt while his wife escorted him to the judging station and then pretended to be his labor coach .
That was clever..creative..but..
Amateurs!
I bet you're all thinking what I WOULD have created in those two minutes while I was sitting in my chair passing gas and passing time, so I'll tell you.
Even 'though there was a definite chill in the air, I would have convinced Jim to take the balloon into the ocean until they were both soaking wet.
I'd have him come out, exhausted and disoriented and clutching the big white balloon.
He would look at me, standing a few feet away, squinting his very tired eyes and he'd ask:
"Kelly? Kelly Frears, from Memphis, Tennessee? After all these years, is it really you?"
Now I know you have to suspend belief to imagine me in this role, since I look like Helen Hunt as much an emaciated coyote does.(oh..wait..)
..and I'd go up to my wet husband and slap him. Hard, across his sunburned cheek.
"Four years??? Four *%(#*&% years??!!" my character would say, before slapping him again.
"I married someone I don't love and had a daughter I didn't want and don't give me that crap about a downed UPS plane..you JILTED me. Where the hell were you??!!"
Jim would say, "Kelly..I can explain.."
And then MY character would notice him holding that blown up white balloon, very close to his heart, and she'd say:
"And who the hell is THIS??"
He'd say: "This is Wilson and it didn't mean anything! I swear, Kel, Winston doesn't make Passover brisket like you do or make me laugh like you do..Wilson was just..just..just an OUTLET, Kel..and..and you were in MEMPHIS, for God sakes, and we had a little too much to drink because I was in a downed UPS plane in the ocean..and..and..I love YOU, Kelly! Please..we can go to counseling..please.."
I would scream: "You lying, cheating mother f*ucker!" and I'd violently yank Wilson from his grasp.
I would take Wilson to the judging station, find the sharpest object I could in the sand, and pop the living daylights out of him.
What do you think..would YOU have voted for us?
