Bubba Goes To the Beach
A long weekend at the beach! Now just who can ask for better? The difference, however, was a trip to Tybee Island vice Myrtle Beach and the only hint that Bubba could figure out was that there was no ‘Tar Top’ nor ‘Bowery’ ( now should anyone bother to inform Bubba that neither of these places exists may very well inherit the coon huntin’ fool). But as soon as he saw his first cold beer sign, all was OK with the world.
For those unaccustomed to Savannah’s beach, just remember what the Grand Strand was like as late as the 1970’s. Little or no commercialization, no building taller than 4 stories (except the Lighthouse and water tower), pristine sandy beaches, and to Bubba’s delight no one using the word ‘hey’ after each statement. I guess it’s too far away to I-95 and too close to the Florida line for those Canucks to bother with such a small island. In fact, I cannot remember seeing but one out of state auto tag, and that belonged to my nephew who dropped by to have a beer with Bubba and show off my new grand nephew.
Should one remember that the best of all places to eat fresh seafood are those places that resemble a dump? You know the dilapidated building, no paint for decades and wind worn, well at Tybee that is certainly the case. A building that a landowner should have to pay an occupant to reside, flush with freely roaming cats that keep the rat population in check, and a locale that if it were beside the road in the Palmetto State one would expect to view at least four inches of butt cleavage when someone bent over to pick up the paper. Just the atmosphere Bubba requires when out for fine dining.
And the nightlife, Bubba was in his element as he took it upon himself as a self proclaimed expert at the art of beach dancin’. It seems that the residents and visitors of this quaint island danced something akin to a cross between the twist and break dancing, and Bubba set out to teach these Peach State folks the manly art of the Shag. Not that he’s any good at it, but anyone who shags knows that the more beer one consumes, the better they think they are at shagging. Bubba had tied himself into a two week drunk in the confines of forty-eight hours and was not to be denied.
It wasn’t until his third dance partner objected to his complement concerning the number of wet tee shirt contests she had won, that things started to deteriorate. You see, that particular partner was a might heftier than the three hundred pounds estimated. Next was the octogenarian in a wheelchair that kept running over Bubba’s feet which really wasn’t that bad except when it rubbed the corn off his left big toe. It was then that Bubba swapped seats with the lady and went out to the street and started drag racing cars from one stoplight to the next. He was later returned by the local police as there was no law against riding a wheelchair drunk.
I left Bubba to his own wits when I learned that he had organized a skinny dip at the pool with the local retirement home residents. It wasn’t until the next day that some thirty-five naked elderly men and women were discovered on the beach with a bonfire and smoking what was thought to be something other than sea ‘weed’. Bubba was safely back at the residence of the hefty dance partner who decided that she did own a tank top.
Ain’t it a great life!