Behind the curve

***There are a few recent events that I’ve been too lazy to chronicle here. Let’s see how bored I can make you.***

If I haven’t made it clear before, Achebeyo and I love to travel. Wait, let me rephrase that: we love being in places other than home, but could do without the hassle of getting there. Honestly, science needs to get on the ball with that whole quantum transportation thing. They’ll have at least one lifetime subscriber the moment teleportation is perfected.

A few weeks ago, we braved the corridor of doom (I-95 on the east coast of the US) to visit Achebeyo’s recently relocated sister for Thanksgiving. Aside from the driving, which was extensive, we had no responsibilities or obligations on this trip. Now, I’m not lazy, but that appealed greatly to my generally lazy nature. We showed up ready to eat until the associated moaning & napping set in.

Achebeyo’s sister and her boyfriend live in an undisclosed (to you…on pain of death to me) location on a canal where marine wildlife was touted to make frequent appearances. It sounded idyllic, and it was. We didn’t know it yet, but we were in cougar-infested paradise.

I’m not typically the focus of anonymous female attention, which suits me just fine. The last thing I need is trying to explain to Achebeyo the hows and whys of unwarranted and unsolicited interest in me from outside sources. I’ve read that’s a no-win scenario even with bulletproof innocence. However, while taking in some sun and sand on this visit, we were able to witness the kind of bold desperation that would turn aging eyes my way.

There’s a vase in our house that has a collection of shells I’ve meticulously retrieved from various locations around the globe for my love. While stooping & scooping in this new location, I noticed someone angling toward me from farther down the strand. Trying not to be a bothersome walk-block, I moved higher up the strand, toward Achebeyo. No luck. It was a homing-cougar on a recon mission. As I mumbled some version of ‘excuse me’, she angled in and gave her best attempt at a sultry hello. I’m pretty sure the reality of whom she was addressing slammed into her tanned grey matter at that moment, and she veered away rapidly. I mean, there were likely much younger guys with less salt in their pepper looking for a sugar momma farther on down in her walk. Achebeyo and I shared a laugh over it and went back to our respective activities, hers being the horizontal absorption of warmth through scantily-clad skin. It wouldn’t be until later the next day, however, that we would see these predators in full form.

Thanksgiving day went exactly as expected: a delicious meal prepared by our gracious hosts, accompanied by a visit from a pod of dolphins right off their dock. If I hadn’t been in the pre-nap groaning phase of feasting, I would have had the presence of mind to take some pictures. Alas…

The following day, we paddled around the canals and saw more dolphins and some exotic birds, then walked around the neighboring housing developments to see what was for sale and how much we could expect to pay to own property in this area. We quickly determined I don’t have enough viable organs to sell to afford living there at this point, so we wandered back to home base and began preparations for the evening’s events.

Dinner was at a novelty chain restaurant based on a movie character. It was good, but the highlight was when we made the waiter nearly fall over laughing when we read his mind (“Just shut the eff up and sign the form.”) From there, we decided that we would have a few drinks somewhere nearby in preparation for karaoke at a place that wasn’t quite ready for their own festivities yet, based on the few grizzled and grumbling faces we saw the first time we poked our heads in the door. We gravitated to a local watering hole and began our cougar-watching in earnest.

Now, I’ve got nothing against people who come together out of any need or desire that isn’t physically or mentally abusive. Watching the hunt, though, made me wonder who was hunting whom. It was also a bit like watching a wasp lay its eggs in a live tarantula: horrible, but riveting. We endured that for a while then made our silly way over to the karaoke bar.

By the time we got there and got settled in, I was ‘comfortable’ enough to think I could play pool effectively. ENK! Wrong. Also darts. Strike two, folks. And when it came time for me to finally sing the one song I’m really good at (Stray Cat Strut by the Stray Cats), everyone was well beyond ready to go home. While they made preparations to leave in the dubiously sanitary bathrooms, I sang my heart out. As the last “WHOOO!” left my mouth, my companions were making their way out the door and I had to step swiftly to not be left at the mercy of the aging crowd.

We returned and walked our hosts’ gorgeous dog, then racked out until morning. We made the long drive back in record time and managed to avoid the state, county and city tax collectors (police) along the way. It was a perfect short trip, full of food, fun and frolicking in the wilds of cougarville.

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3 Comments on “Behind the curve”

  1. Mr Pig Says:

    Why did you tag this with “sarcasm”? And I was hoping for a tale of big toothy 4 legged felines. 😉

  2. Narf Says:

    Wish I could have been there to see that!! 😀

  3. Dad Says:

    Your story reminded me of the beach in Dubrovnik where I chanced to swim in the crystalline waters of the Dalmatian Sea. That was the GOOD part. The OTHER part was making my way down to the water in my modest boxer trunks through the curious eyes of babushka covered matrons in burlap chemise swimsuits (have you seen the commercial with the beefy Russian models wearing various versions of burlap? — “Eez Zvim Vare!”). Not to be outdone by their mates, the male bathers, clad in what looked like converted sling shots modestly covered by bulbous overhanging guts, proudly strode the beach while ogling the pretty girls in bikinis. I gave up on the beach after that. It was either that or give up eating, and I enjoy eating.


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