Of Sand and Sun

Kenny and I went to the beach for his birthday. This was his birthday present from his parents, other than black jersey sheets and a smattering of art supplies. All in all, it was a nice trip.
We really only got one shot of the two of us and Kenny and I are both wearing strange expressions. Such is life.

I got some good shots of turtles and fish and such:

We also saw some fantastic birds:


On the way back, we stopped by Kenny's great aunt's house. This woman was the epitome of Southern hospitality. We weren't two steps into her home before she was pressing a variety of drinks into our hands. She proceeded to then serve BBQ sausage and brisket, coleslaw, mashed potatoes and gravy and beans. To top it all off, she also had cherry pie and peach ice cream. My goodness. The heavy fare took a toll on my stomach.

I excused myself to the restroom and was directed to a wallpapered half bath complete with rose pressed guest soaps and the Sunday paper. I suddenly found that what I thought would be a discrete call to Hitler turned into a massive, violent expelling of a quarterback-sized demon from my backside.

My initial surprise quickly turned into panic as I realized that the careful design of this bathroom left no room for something so crude as a plunger. I flush the toilet again only to discover that my indiscretion has lodged itself firmly into the preliminary pipes and that the water level is quickly rising. Frantically, I grab the only toilet-related object in the room. I stand above the toilet, wielding a silver toilet scrubber. I desperately stab at the wad of toilet paper with this ineffective bristle brush.

Realizing that this will never work, I grab a great length of clean toilet paper, wrap it around both of my hands as a protective barrier. Flipping the brush around, I poke the handle into the mass before I realized that this was foul in too many ways to count. I plunge the whole thing under the sink and wash it off as best I can in an attempt to right the wrong that I've just committed.

Turning down the toilet lid, I close the door behind me and make my way to Kenny's side. I whisper that I think something is wrong with the facilities. He assures me that he will tend to the issue and closes himself into the problematic room. After an extended amount of time, he emerges and then whispers to his father of the issue. He in turn goes into the room and when he comes out, he goes to Kenny's great uncle and whispers to him. Shamed, I go outside for a cigarette. Meanwhile, Kenny's mother has come out onto the porch and is questioning me about the well-being of Kenny's digestive system.

On a more cheerful note, here is a beautiful beach sunset, complete with seagulls: