Well, it was either “ignoble death” or “registered sex offender for life.”
I quickly came to terms that I was probably going to die right there in the water…
I’ve long maintained that I’m pretty sure that I have an utterly stupid and/or ridiculous death awaiting me. If you think I’m joking about this, then you may want to think again. I’m dead serious.
You may have already read about my urine-related brush with death, but I can understand if one piece of anecdotal evidence isn’t enough to convince you of this immutable life-truth of mine. So I thought maybe I would toss another example your way…
Every summer, The Boss Lady and I make an annual trek to hit up one of the many beautiful local beaches, much like many a folk who live within striking distance of one of an oceanic coast. Of course, these days this is now in the form of a luxurious multi-generational beach vacation, but this belies the much, much more humble beginnings of this yearly tradition.
One fine Saturday morning during the first summer of being married, we decided on a Lark1This is a play on words that absolutely nobody is going to get: we lived on Lanark Road at the time, and we had people mistaking our address for “Lark Road” ALL. THE. TIME. to take a day trip to the beach. I had never been to a Carolina beach before, and she thought it would be fun to check out where she grew up vacationing. As a bonus we could hit up the NC Aquarium and nosh on some genuine seafood while we were at it.
Oh, and of course we would frolic in the water and sand a little bit too. I mean, what would be a beach trip without a little sand in the shorts, amiright?
We actually ended up doing the whole beach thing twice in the few hours we were there. The last time, right before we headed home, was a spur-of-the-moment last-hurrah type of affair where we were like, “Hey what say we pull over at this random beach that we’re completely unfamiliar with and get one last bit of salt water in our system?”
It was all fun and games at first, but soon it was time to go, and I found that I indeed had more than just a “little sand in the shorts.” Now the beach we had gone to earlier was the one she had gone to growing up, and a key feature of that familiar beach was that there were showers for rinsing off conveniently located just across the street. No such amenities were to be found at this beach, though.
But that’s not an obstacle that couldn’t be overcome, right? There was an easy enough solution: just go out far enough in the water, take me trunks2Pirate joke or typo? I’ll never tell! off, rinse them out in the ocean, and put them back on. Duh. It’s not rocket science.
I had made it through Step 3 of this Easy 4-Step Plan before running into a slight snag. And I blame it all on the dang geography.
The particular spot in the water that I had chosen in which to do my deed was strategically located between, on one side, a large formidable formation of sharp and jagged rocks. On the other, a large family with many small children playing in the sand.
Still, this doesn’t seem like it should be a near-death experience, right? Well, that’s because we’re overlooking one small detail: the power of the ocean.
Due to some rare combination of the tide and local topography of that particular spot, there was an extreme variation in the depth of the water as each wave would roll in.
I found this out after I found myself naked in the water, unfortunately.
The first time I tried putting my shorts back on, a wave came in, and all of a sudden I found myself unable to touch the bottom. And it turns out that it is incredibly difficult to put pants on without any secure footing and without having enough free hands to dog paddle and keep your head above water.
But as soon as that wave crashed, the water only came up to my ankles, so in an effort not traumatize a flock of youngsters–and to avoid getting arrested for indecent exposure–I sat down immediately in the half-foot of water, as that was the only way to avoid showing off my family jewels to the whole entire world.
It turns out that there was no “in between”–I was either desperately struggling to keep my head above water or trying to hide my Biblical shame in 6 inches of water or less. There was never enough of the “just the right amount of water” for long enough to get my shorts back on successfully.
Very soon I had booked myself a trip on the proverbial Struggle Bus, and struggle I did indeed. The more I fought, the more exhausted I became; the more exhausted I became, the less able I was to stay in the same spot…wait, why am I so close to those rocks? Oh shit ! This got real, real fast!
My life started flashing before my eyes. Was this it? Could it be true? Was this how I was going to die?
Ass-naked and smashed upon some rocks?
Yeah, you know what? This seems pretty on brand for me. And why not? Who wants a boring Bougie death anyways? Not me! I’m pants-down and Heaven-bound, baby!
Plus, there was some strange satisfaction of having it all end just how it all began. After all, naked and flailing I came unto this world, and naked and flailing I shall leave it…right?
You know, I don’t recall how I ultimately got out of that jam, but much to The Boss Lady’s relief–who was watching this all unfold from the shore with a concerned-yet-laughing look on her face–a somehow survived while also managing to not show off too much of my flesh to that very confused family of onlookers.
Anyways, there you have it, folks: yet another ignoble way that I almost died. Maybe there isn’t really a moral of a story to be had here, but that’s okay, I give you permission to go ahead and laugh at my expense.
And if nothing else, I got to sneak a little bit of Maranasati in, which is actually pretty fitting for the Thanksgiving season: though we may eventually die, let us give thanks for still being alive.
As they say, this is what the holidays are all about…
Content created on: 12/20 November 2020 (Thurs/Fri)
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