She was a showgirl

I figured out that when I go to the beach, if I head right instead of left, no people. True, yes it is. See to the left are hotels, hotels and hotels. To the right? Big fancy houses and people in big fancy houses don’t use the beach because they are busy in their big fancy houses doing important big fancy things.

Seriously BIG FANCY things.

So I’m walking and walking and walking and no one is around. It’s so great. Me and the sound of the waves on the beach. Ooooh and birds, there were lots of birds and I just love running towards large groups of birds with my arms out and going “cacaw, cacaw!” and watching them scatter.

Perfectly normal beach behavior.

After about an hour or so, this woman is walking towards me and ok, whatever. Then she gets to me and says, “Here, you HAVE GOT TO HEAR THIS!” and she is holding out her headphones to me. I never know how to react to crazy people, so I say ok, thinking maybe it will be the sounds of mating whales or perhaps some native tribal chants. I could really get into that kind of thing.

But then what if it is some sort of mind control sounds and the second I put on the headphones, I go insane and this woman takes me home to become a sex slave/baby maker for her 47 year old grown son Roy, who was disfigured in a horrible tractor accident?

Right, so I put on the headphones knowing that it may mean that I will soon become Roy’s zombie bride, but what is life without taking risks?

Blaring through the headphones is Copocabana. That’s right, with yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there, that’s the one.

Well I listened for a about ten seconds to be polite and then I think I smiled and said, “wow, Manilow” and handed her back the headphones and kept walking.

What does this all mean? I just don’t know, but at least I’m not pregnant with Roy’s love child and now I know there is nothing scarier on the beach than a wacked out Fanilow.

That counts for something.

2007-09-12 at 9:04 a.m.