So I'm at the beach house with the in-laws and today--day three--I hit a wall. Not in anger or frustration, although that would be understandable because the in-laws are narcoleptic, alzheimer-ridden control-freaks with an aversion to hearing aids. WHAT. No. I hit a wall because apparently, SOMEONE (read: mother-in-law) has been making decaf coffee unbenownst to anyone else here and passing it off as actual coffee. I guess that would explain the narcolepsy. And the headaches. And my ill mood. This morning at the beach this interchange actually took place:
Redneck Dude in homemade boat with tattered travesty of an American flag fluttering listlessly from one of the downriggers beaches his boat.
Me: DUDE. Are you American? I've seen Jihadists treat the flag with more respect than that.
Redneck Dude's white trash drunken girl friend falls off the boat, proceeds to squat and without her ass even being entirely covered by the water proceeds to pee in about 18 inches of tide.
This infuriates me beyond the pale. I try to sick my dog on them, but he is a pathetic Retriever and only manages to get ass-humped by the Chocolate Lab twenty feet up the beach. He comes back with a mouth full of seaweed and drops it at my feet. I tell him he should be ashamed of himself, as no self-respecting dog should allow that kind of behavior until at least the third date.
I have no idea why I'm so irritable. I'm at a gorgeous beach; it's a beautiful day. I have my kids and my husband and my dog and a good book.
I tell JP that if the woman sitting in the beach chair next to me had spent as much money on a nutritionist for her obese child as she had for her fake breasts she could have prevented a certain lifetime of bullying, diabetes, and high cholesterol. Oh well. Single moms with fat kids have to compensate somehow.
I am an evil person.
Back at the beach house, I go for more coffee. The pot is empty. I go to make more but can't find coffee beans anywhere. Just this dirt-like substance in a green can. I think they call it decaf. I corner the mother-in-law.
Me: Is this what you've been making the whole time?
Her: Well, we were out of regular.
I stare at her wordlessly for about twenty seconds.
I get in the minivan. Someone on this island has to have real coffee.
There are three convenience stores on Harker's Island. One is closed for Easter. The other two have no coffee. DO YOU HEAR WHAT I'M TELLING YOU? Gas stations with no coffee. The best thing I can find is Frappucino in a bottle. I buy it with a Coke chaser.
It is terrible. I drink the Coke instead on the drive home, which is only four minutes long. Back at the kitchen, I consider microwaving the vile frappucino in an attempt to make it taste more like real coffee. JP tells me this is a bad idea. Luckily, by now the caffeine in the Coke is kicking in and I'm beginning to see reason.
I drink the Frappucino.
JP will not take me back to the beach, despite my assurances of adequate caffeination and better behavior.
Also, the Retreiver seems a little traumatized.