To the Bat Cave

Jameson had successfully passed his first round of exams in Semester 2 and I was visibly calmer. I had no idea I’d stress out more than my husband about the possibility of failing an exam and staying on this rock longer than planned. Quick reality check. Yep, still no Target here.

“Wife, what are you doing?” my husband calls through the bedroom door.  “It’s a beach party.  We’re not meeting the Queen.”

Oddly enough we could meet a queen. Beatrix, the Queen of the Netherlands, was here during the first semester. I remember it fondly because we had water, electricity and internet service the entire week. That glorious trifecta of convenience was well worth the bad traffic.

While yanking the door open and wearing my stern face, I snip back, “I was having trouble deciding what to wear, okay. Happy now?”

This statement puzzles Ja while he backs away from the bedroom door.  He looks me up and down, shakes his head and hollers for Grey to hurry up. Why am I the only one in this house worried about going to a beach party with a bunch of toned, tanned 20-something chippies in bikinis? Grey can’t get out of the house fast enough and here I am trying to figure out which swimsuit offers the most coverage. Oxymoron with a side of apathy, coming right up.

Walking down the hill toward Mullet Beach I quickly recite my story about the dog poop and the naked guy. Grey rolls his eyes and requests, “Mom, please don’t talk about dogs dropping a log or some grandpa and his junk while we’re at the beach.  It’s embarrassing. “

“Embarrassing? You just turned thirteen and you’re crushing on one of your dad’s classmates and my story about dog poop is embarrassing?”

“Agh! Seriously, I’m running ahead. Just act like you don’t know me,” Grey adds while jogging off to the beach.

“What did I say?”

“Wife,” Jameson starts, “Just try to make it through the next couple of hours. I want to see how people did on exams. Plus, it’s free food so we get off easy feeding Grey.”  Jameson pats me on the shoulder and dismisses me to head over to the crowd.

My husband was mingling with students from all semesters and Grey was hanging with some boys from his school so I set up my beach bum station.

Mental Checklist: the black hat I bought to shade my face not only attracts the sun but doubles as a portable heater.  Purchase new hat and maybe some Toms while browsing online later.

I was 2% into my book on my Kindle when the back of my arm lit up in pain. I shouted, jumped up and began shaking my right arm while trying to swat at my shoulder and back with my left. What the heck?!?  I don’t know what bit me, but I wanted it squashed under my heel immediately.

“Ohmuhgawd! Are you okay?”

I turned to see two tiny girls in bikinis with concerned looks and Heineken’s. Oh, they were talking to me. My dance of life must have spooked them.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Something bit me and I just, I just freaked out I guess. Thank you for asking,” I answer while trying to smile and not worry about my roots. I knew I should have colored my hair this morning. I knew it!

“No, I totally would have done the same thing. Bugs freak me out,” explains yellow and black bikini girl.  I decide she reminds me of a bumble bee.

Her friend in the pink suit adds, “And how awesome that you have like almost no fat on your triceps. My friends’ mom moves her arms and it’s like she’s got wings or something.” They both giggle at that and continue down the beach sipping beer.

What. The. Frak.

Not only am I being grouped into what I consider to be a Grandma-like branding, I’ve been reduced to comparison to a mom with flabby arms who can fly.  No amount of chardonnay can make me forget that shit.  I settle back on my beach towel and plan my personal attack.

Mental Checklist:  Can I get a trainer here? How well do the Turbo Fire DVD’s really work if you use them “as directed”?   Has Jameson noticed my bat wings and just not said anything? If I Google flabby arms will I find a support group in my area?  Should I ask Grey about this and risk personal ridicule or just drink my way through this hitch in my giddy-up?

I decide on the latter and head over to the beer tent. Flabby arms or not, I can throw back the beers with the kids.