Thursday, July 21, 2011

L, M, N, O, Pee

There is a beach/theme park not too far from our house. It is a tasty cocktail of equal parts Drunk Red Neck and Sun Burned White Trash with a twist of Scantily Clothed Biker. They try to promote this place as family friendly, which is about as ironic as when Vegas tried to do the same.

Nevertheless, we took Baby Boy there to cross off two vacation plans off in one day: get sand in every body crease and sit in metal rides on a 99-degree day.

They have a log flume there that called to me if for no other reason to splash the layer of grime off my face. Of course I got soaked. I topped off the experience with a zip on the roller coaster to dry my hair.

When I exited the ride, I saw the workers pointing at my former seat and smirking.

"Did I leave something there?" I called.

"I'd say you did," one laughed.

Apparently my post-Log Flume bum left a big, soggy print on the black plastic seats.

Ah, sweet youth. Let them think the old mom peed on the ride. They are just lucky I didn't fulfill my fantasy to buy every kid in their line an extra large fried dough and a blue slushie.

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