“Stop making out!”

Who would have thought that I would be at the beach on the sunny day before I moved into my dorm? And what smaller number would have thought that the person who invited me was the whitest person I know? And that he would invite a redhead to share in the melanoma risk?

Andy picked us up at the ungodly hour of 9:30, so I only had time to grab my trunks and stuff them in Columbia. I ended up changing in some tall dune grass while we were at what I hoped was a deserted beach. Too bad for me that the stuff was actually “razor grass” and that that is exactly what it sounds like.

I floated in the relatively shallow waves, unfortunately abrading my ass on the washed-ashore rocks, but that’s a fact of life. Sometimes, rocks will grate your ass. And sometimes, razor grass will slice you in places you don’t want it to.

I finally submerged myself in the initially fatally cold water and started diving for rocks and was shouting out again and again at what I discovered that they looked like. Then Annie started doing it.

Andy: Eat in or drive-thru?
John: I don’t care.
Tommy: I got time.
Meredith: Eh…
Annie: POTATO!

We repurposed a lawn chair fragment as a shovel and dug a series of pits to bury people in. First Annie, then Mer, then me, John, and Andy while Mer was still buried.

At first, Mer kept wiggling out so we compressed the sand over her. Andy repeatedly (full) body-slammed her to keep her down. Prompting Annie to quip the title, the first instance of many. Then I got in the pit next to her (It was a queen-sized hole. (Shut up.)) Only I dug this hole too deep. We hit a gravel layer and had to undig to avoid getting gravel in my trunks. After we got up to my neck and arms, we had the bright idea to lie John down perpendicular on top of me and bury him too. I learned the hard way (minor enamel erosion) that he is extremely ticklish pretty much everywhere and likely to kick sand into my mouth. After an hour or so, we got another bright idea: lay Andy across John and Meredith and bury him too. (I know; I didn’t even expect to be outside on a sunny day with these people, now I’m lying on a triple-layered sand-buffered dogpile.) Then arose a fact hidden until now by the excitement and temperature of the water: I had to pee. With a few inches of sand between me and John and a few inches more from Andy.

That, my friends, is dignity: If I’m not being sliced in the naughty bits by razor grass on the surface, I’m peeing myself underground.

After an endless agonizing barrage of photos, I was pulled from my grave which only served to hurt my shoulders and not actually extract me. I was in too deep and trying to keep (Yes, Kiwi, that’s a Sum 41 reference.) my bodily functions in check. Though my giant feet anchored me, I was finally lifted free and ran to the water and stayed submerged there for about 17 minutes.

Well, it was time to go and walk the path back to the car. After shaking the rocks from my innernet. We went down the Dead River path. The mosquitoes like my flesh, so I wasn’t stopping for anything. Andy wanted to take pictures, so we left him and Meredith alone in a prairie

(After Mer and Andy have been away for a while “taking pictures”, Tommy calls Andy’s iPhone.)
Tommy: Stop making out.
Andy: Okay, sir.

Liar.

2 Responses to ““Stop making out!””

  1. John G. says:

    POTATO!

  2. […] beach visit interesting, or perhaps Tommy’s more verbose (and often embellished) post would suit […]

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