A Beach Story

**Once again, this was originally posted on the brightsideblog.com but I think it is worth putting here as well. Ruth has a thing about beaches and it is something I feel myself. My feeling about them is they are wonderful. Early in the morning or late at night is my kinda beach time. The rest of the time, especially when it is blazing hot like today, makes no sense to me. All those people with their obnoxious kids...no room...you can't really play music. And I'm a redhead....so I assume you get this. The following story has little or nothing at all to do with how I feel about the beach. It's not only funny but completely true. Sorry Beia...I hope the afterlife is treating you well and there is lots of water.

**WARNING:THIS MAY BE GROSS TO SOME!!

My friend Beia used to do this kind of thing all the time. For some reason the guy REALLY liked to poop. I don’t mean it was something he simply enjoyed. NO NO NO! This guy looked forward to it. He was often consumed by the very idea. He would start grabbing various newspapers and magazines in anticipation of a good poop. Once that moment arrived, he would spend no less then an hour on the hopper and I wasn’t the only one concerned after the first half hour had passed when he still hadn’t emerged but we all learned to accept it (except his mom, but who could blame her? If it were my child I would be calling the fire department.)

Anyway, there was also some connection between water and how it related to pooping for him. I am still befuddled by this. I mean….sure there is water in the toilet but how does being submerged in water make one feel the absolute necessity to let a loaf go and ultimately rise to the surface?? A bunch of us would go pool hopping every summer and invariably Beia would poop in whatever victims pool we found ourselves in that evening.

So Beia’s family and mine were members of The Bay Club on Long Island. This was a very White place. I don’t mean that the buildings and cabanas were all white (though most of them were just that). I am referring to race and socioeconomic status issues. I can not recall any members that were not fellow Honkeys. Everyone there had some parents with “Some” sort of money. The place had a huge pool with three diving boards set at different heights. Yes, there was a kiddy pool and a small heated whirlpool attached as well. There was also a private beach that was on the Bay which led right out into the Atlantic.

On my 12th birthday I received the most wonderful two person raft. It was black and yellow…it had oars and rope that went around the perimeter. Well…one day Beia and I decided to see how far out into the Bay we could go and, ultimately, if we could make it to the outer reaches and into the Atlantic. We get pretty far out there (uh…let me add that we were “far out there” in more ways then one) and then Beia hops over the side and into the ocean. I just assumed, foolishly I might add, that he was merely cooling himself off as it was mid July and we had been out in the mid day blazing sun for at least two hours and had belly’s full of Busch Beer. I too am like Ruth (by the way, Ruth….you must cease and desist referring to yourself in the third person. Paul doesn’t like that at all). I love the ocean. The smell of salt water…the water that seems to never end and challenges our knowledge that the Earth is round…looks pretty square to me when I look at the horizon. Also the hot (not literally) people walking around all buff and tan. It feels like a scene from Caligula may break out at any given moment and that would be just fine with me...but I digress. So Beia is in the water holding onto the edge of the raft and then the “Killer Loaf” rises to the surface. “JESUS CHRIST MAN!” is all I can say. Then to make things REALLY uncomfortable he manages to get his excrement into the raft. I grab one of the oars and do two things with it. The first is obvious. I fish the poop out and back into the sea. The second is more of a confession. I hit Beia over the head as hard as I could and knock him completely unconscious and watch his face lower into the water and eventually he starts to sink. I do not bother myself with this. I merely turned the raft around and head back to the shore. No one saw the two of us together as we headed out so why should anyone be surprise to see me come back alone?

The moral of the story? Teach your children early that just because you really enjoy pooping and there is water in the toilet bowl this does not make it O.K. to go ahead and defecate in a pool, pond, ocean or whatever body of water you find yourself in. You will also wind up dead!!