With S out of town and other friends planning the big end-of-summer party, I decided a beach trip was in order. Back to Rehoboth Beach in Delaware, 2 1/2 hours away.
Sleeping in is "natch" on Saturdays but it's not good if you want to beat the traffic. Thankfully, there wasn't much by 1, when I left. After an accidental detour through The Area Known as the Accidental Detour on the Way to the Beach, I was at Lewes, which is a couple miles north of Rehoboth and has a relatively quiet beach that draws families, not skanks and their enablers.
The Dairy Queen 50 feet from the beach doesn't exactly have much in the way of competition to make its staff fast and efficient, so half an hour later (this included frantic runs from the meter thing to my car to find change - no bills) I was on the sand with a stiff breeze that probably lowered the temperature to 65. A lone seagull forlornly paced the beach, looking for scraps, like a feather-boa'd midget beggar who fell into a vat of Loafer Lightener. Let me tell you, it's hard to eat lettuce in the wind, which picked up various parts of my salad (laugh, like Jerry's meat-loving date) and tossed them into the pace-path of the seagull, which snapped them up.
After that bit of comedy, I headed trepidatiously for the water, which was rather chilly last time I was there, earlier this summer. Not this time - it was warmer in the water than the wind-scorched shore. And with several horseshoe crab carcasses washed up on shore, I didn't fear anything nipping my nips in the water. The waves were sizable this time for such a calm beach, knocking me over several times as I frolicked like a man-dog chimera. The few groups on the shore paid me no heed so I paid mature restraint no heed. But be forewarned - landing on your hands in four feet of water isn't advised, if you want to retain your typing skills.
Off to Rehoboth for a beer and boardwalk fries. For another month or so I won't have access to Dogfish Head beer in my backyard, so I have to visit its hometown restaurant just off the beach or else trek to Hicktown, Maryland, which isn't happening. The Chicory Stout is back, and rather tasty - I didn't realize it had actual coffee but that would explain the nice pick-me-up I had as I left. The crab and corn chowder soaked up the booze rather nicely.
I sighed that I wouldn't have time to play mini-golf before rushing back to DC for the end-of-summer party, and consoled myself with a stroll on the beach. The waves were crashing even harder, like a drummer two stages behind his band. What amused me most was a tiny bird that could have been a baby seagull or something long and thin I just didn't recognize, who had the most curious ritual: Waves crash, water recedes, bird scampers with wind-up toy legs to sand momentarily naked, and woodpeckers the sand for who knows what. When the waves approach, the bird scampers away with the same wind-up toy legs, only to repeat the procedure. This went on for probably the three minutes that I watched and transfixed several other beachgoers. Nature, adorable in tooth and claw.
I grabbed some Thrashers Fries for the drive home, and prolonged use of them - about 45 minutes of the trip is one-lane roads, with a lot of wussy drivers who are either really afraid of the dark or don't read speed limits. Encouraged by a few exasperated drivers ahead, I zig-zagged around the Unders but didn't get very far. You wonder in these situations whether honking would make these speed-meekins' go any faster or whether they'd call the cops with the whopper that a crazy man was on the road. The only crazy one is the driver afraid to hit the speed limit on a clear, 60 degree night.
At 10 on the dot, I pulled up to my friends' end of summer party - horribly underdressed. I had completely ignored whether there was suggested dress for this shindig and ended up the bum at the soiree in t-shirt (Bayside Tigers, which received two compliments at the beach), shorts and sneakers in a sea of khakis, collars and capris. Coupled with the fact that I hadn't seen most of these people - from my old church - in several months, and didn't recognize a decent chunk, I was about ready to slink out after 20 minutes of well-meaning stares, but stuck around for 90 minutes. The punch-bowl mojitos were good and I had to lecture a couple iPhone aficionados about the inherent emptiness of the Pretty Company, then talk MP3 players, game consoles and other shallow, pretty things.
Next time, read the Evite and bring a change of clothes.
