The first two days of our vacation were glorious sunny days and the Crissys decided to go to the beach on both days because normally when the Crissys go on vacation it rains the entire time and also Crissy has her period and/or a cold flu typhoid fever and it’s just the most miserable thing ever. But this time there was sun, no cold flu typhoid fever and just the period to contend with so things were looking good and we wanted to take full advantage of the sunshine before it found out we were on vacation.
The first day we went was so nice and Girlfriend met some little friends named Dave and E something, Ella or Emma maybe? Crissy can’t remember and their mother was lovely and we played with bubbles and shared toys and had fun. Mister tried to fly a Kite with Girlfriend but The Man came and shut it down.
There’s no kite flying or ball playing on the beach.
What the Fuck is that shit about? There’s no one else on the beach!
And so I told the young lifeguard that Pamela Anderson just ran that way and that she said she wanted to show him her whistle and he was off to find her.
The second day our friend Kendra came with us and Mister set up the self timer on the camera:
And we built sand castles:
I made a hat.
Shut.up. It does so look like a hat! Everyone laughed at it, but I think it looks quite nice actually.
And then Girlfriend found another little friend named Susie and I forgot to tell you internet about another sort of mom that makes me want to shank a bitch. It’s not the birth story kind of mom, it’s the one upper kind of mom. These two types are not at all mutually exclusive and I’m sure that this mom would have told me her birth story had my husband not been there. They almost never give the history of the vagina and uterus in front of husbands which is why I try to take Mister to the playground as often as I can.
But within the first five minutes of conversation this mom found a way to let us know that her little precious has been potty trained since she was 18 months old and OH! the horror trying to find clothes that fit her because everything her size is made to be worn with a bulky diaper underneath and it’s. so. hard. being. her. and they live two blocks away from the beach and they walk over every day with little precious losing her pants the whole time.
Boo fucking hoo.
When faced with the one upper I’m always tempted to go one downer and just be all like “oh, yeah, I know what you mean. Finding clothes for the baby is so hard because when you live in a women’s shelter like we do you have to take whatever people give you. But it will all change soon because we’re getting the paternity test back any day now and we’ll find out who her father is we can get some child support and I’ve been cured off the Wild Turkey for a whole 8 days now ever since the judge said they’d take my kid away if I didn’t quit drinking and giving blow jobs to random strangers at bars…”
But I didn’t have to do anything like that because Girlfriend decided she did not like these people and dumped a bucket of icy cold salt water on the kid and after being half heartedly scolded for it by me she turned around and dumped another bucket on the mother.
I tried not to high five her in front of the woman because that would have been rude and “don’t be rude” is my motto.
So we left the beach after that and went to The Atlantic Beach Club where we had clam cakes and chowder and enjoyed ourselves immensely and Girlfriend was very into being a snotty beach club lady.
And the day the weather was total crap so we skipped the beach and went to Flo’s Clam Shack where George, Girlfriend’s new Sock Monkey who was a gift from Kendra, enjoyed some fish and chips with slaw.
Little did we know that the rest of the week it would continue to rain and wind and be cold because the Crissys bring bad weather and pestilence wherever they go.
We also bring bail money and plenty of sex lube, but that’s a story for another blog.