Tourists and Their Paraphernalia

Before I start on the topic at hand, I need to share two things.

First, last night, for the first time in I don’t want to know how long, while purchasing wine at our local grocery store, I was (drum roll please) carded.

Let’s all pause and reflect with awe and thankfulness on that one for a moment.

And another moment.

Okay.

In truth, I think the amiable lad was just doing his job, because he barely glanced at my ID before okaying it. I really wanted him to study it closely, frankly, maybe look up a couple of times at me and back down at my ID again, as if wanting to verify that it was authentic, thinking maybe I was some 19-year-old (yeah, right) trying to pull a fast one. It was a lovely dream.

Nevertheless, I’ll be content with the fact that he felt the need to ask, even if only in the most technical sense. Considering my age and the fact that Botox and I have not made each other’s acquaintance, I feel celebratory.

Second, my oldest son fried his first egg this morning. This was essentially his first cooking experience. And, not only did he fry an egg, but he also made an egg and cheese bagel sandwich, completely on his own. This means, of course, that by tomorrow, he will be up to par with my culinary skills.

Who are we kidding – he already is.

The line above was just added by my husband while I stepped away from the computer for a moment. I’m dead serious here. See, this is what I’m dealing with on a marital level. Pray for us.

Actually, pray more for him than for me. He’s the one that’s going to need it more shortly.

Anyway, I press onward and upward toward the topic at hand.

Tourists are always fun to watch, for many reasons. One thing that always entertains me is watching the many loads of stuff that they bring with them to the beach. The longer I’m here, the less I bring with me to the beach, generally speaking. If I’m on the beach with the small people, we do bring toys, boogie boards and so forth. If I’m by myself, however, I often bring nothing with me. Sand’s going to get everywhere anyway, and a flight of stairs to grab a beverage is good for the glutes, I say.

Oftentimes, tourists spend more time setting up and taking down their stuff than they do just enjoying the beach. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but it does seem to defeat a large part of the whole point of a vacation, which is not, I’m guessing, to spend a week feeling like a member of a set crew.

Recently, I have seen more of the tent-like contraptions that take three or more grown men and at least an hour to assemble. When they are fully assembled, they are often larger than the houses the tourists are staying in. These also sometimes have coordinating attachments, like netted curtains or regular curtains, depending on the need. Even funnier is when they start decorating these contraptions with school flags, pirate décor, or matching furniture that makes it look like they’re setting up for a professional photo shoot.

Some tourists bring indoor furniture outside on the beach, which I always find interesting. “Here, Myrtle, let’s bring the kitchen chairs out on the beach so we can set our drinks on them.” And, “Gee, Herb, that’s a great idea. Wonder why no one else out here is doing the same thing?” I’m just waiting for the day when I’ll see a large plasma TV out on the beach.

Then, there are the people that appear to be afraid of sand. I’m not really sure, then, what they hope to accomplish by spending their vacation on the beach. Facing their worst fears, perchance? They typically come down to the beach fully clothed, with shoes and socks, of course, and spread out several large blankets. Then, they place their chaise lounge chairs on top of the blankets. They quickly sit down on the chairs and only remove their shoes and other apparel after all appendages are far off of the ground, where the pesky sand resides. This practice is what, to use my husband’s term, is called a head-scratcher.

Another thing that makes me laugh is when a family rents an oceanfront property, and yet still brings several giant coolers down to the beach, like they just signed up for a new season of Survivor: Surviving A Carolina Island Alongside Hoards Of Tourists.

About a month ago, I actually watched a couple bring and set up a tent every day on the beach for their dog. Not their infant child, but their dog. See, I could live my whole life, and it would never dawn on me to get a tent for my dog.

On the other hand, maybe I should. Then, at least my husband would have a place to sleep tonight. Oh, and they can do a special bonus episode entitled Survivor: An Island Husband Tries To Survive Tourist Season On A Carolina Island In A Doggie Tent And Also Attempts To Look Casual, As If His Wife Didn’t Just Banish Him From What Is Now Her Home.

Really, I’m fully expecting a call from CBS any minute now to discuss my show idea and how to take the series in a whole new direction.

I’m always thinking.