It’s time to head to the beach. The heat around here has been like 12 yards of hell so I might as well go where there’s strings of seagulls in flight, sand, salt water and briny air to make the heat more bearable.
I’ve loaded up the PT Cruiser and my furkid, Sophie, will ride shotgun.
This visit, one of many I’ve taken of late, will not be to help my friend who was recovering from carotid artery surgery but to have sheer fun. My itinerary will include renting a jet ski and terrorizing the sea life, shopping at Broadway On The Beach, enjoying a night out at the Carolina Comedy Club, pigging out on seafood and homemade peach ice cream and ogling the hunky menfolk with killer tans who smell of coconut oil.
My friend’s son has planned a pool party replete with burgers and dogs and all the fixin’s. Admittedly a pool is not the same as swimming in the ocean. What it lacks in excitement, it more than makes up for by not having scary critters trying to bite you. Sophie has her own doggie floatie to join in on the fun!
Proof is going to look after the place while I’m gone. I’ve let the cops know to keep an eye on him.