Friday, June 1

Part two- I'm sailing away...

Saturday morning at seven am found me at the Charleston City Marina staring at the After, a friend of the family’s yacht. She was taking down to Savannah and back to celebrate her engagement and was bringing along about 50 of her closest friends (and their daughters who had driven down on a whim and had nothing else to do). This thing was sick. Disgusting. There were lounge chairs on the top deck along with a ‘cold tub’. Just like a hot tub, but with cool bubbling water. There were four bars on three levels, a dance floor and two buffets. There was a DJ and two big screen TV’s. I kept waiting for Robin Leach to pop out from behind something and try to interview me. I went up to the top deck to claim a lounge chair and that’s when I met him.
You know how some men are too pretty to actually be hot and some men are too perfect looking? He did not have either of those problems. It was like God had reached into my fantasies and, agreeing in my flawless taste, made the man of my dreams and dropped him onto a deck chair reading one of my favorite novels.

*A side note: If you haven’t read The Celestial Jukebox you really are missing out. *

We chatted. We flirted. He put sunblock on my back. He fetched me drinks. I got the next round so that he could watch me walk away in my fabulous new bathing suit. At some point I feel asleep. When I woke up an hour later he was still right beside me. I’ll stop gushing now and fast forward.
Change into fabulous sundress with MUCH cleavage.
Eat, drink, dance and be merry.
Maybe too merry…get a little dizzy.
I made my way back up to the top deck. I sat down and it hurt. I mean really HURT. Not really caring if anyone was around I lifted up the back of my skirt and tried to look at my a** in the dark on the top of a cruising yacht. Oh yeah. After doing a dog chasing tail imitation for longer than I care to admit I stopped, panting, and touched my a**. It was hot. It hurt when I touched it. Things still didn’t sink in. I sat down again and it hurt AGAIN. Now I was pissed. And hot. I started fanning myself with the skirt of my sundress and the air stung a little in an area that should NEVER sting. I looked down. I yelped. The delicate skin on my inner thighs had gone from a café au lait (G’s normal color) past café Americana (G’s tan color) straight to blueberry antioxidant drink (NO ONE’S COLOR). I panicked. There was only one thing to do. I had to call a white person. In most things I am of the firm belief that color does not matter. There are very few exceptions to this rule. Sunburns that turn my inner thighs into something that would attract Barney are one of them. I called V.

1 Comment:

His Sinfulness said...

Ouch! Reminds me of the time I fell asleep on my stomach and blistered the backs of my knees...