Girls' Beach Trip 2023
The other day I loaded up the Old Grey Mare with flip-flops, swimsuits and a mumu and roared down I-45 toward Houston for my beach trip! There were a couple of wrong turns here and there, but soon I was sailing over the bridge into the sprawling metropolis of Surfside Beach, Texas with a big grin on my face. I hadn’t been to the beach in about a hundred years, so I was looking forward to that first good sniff of beachy, briny, sea-salted air.
By the time I greeted my friends Bonne, Annette and Kathryn and settled into my beach chair with my toes in the sand, I was ready to party. Two hours later, I was pink and toasty (yes, I had sunblock on), sandy and salty, and hungry as a bear. So we staggered down the beach (that’s all you can really do when walking in the sand with flip-flops) to the Beachfront Bar & Grill, sat down in the AC with relief and promptly ordered fruity drinks and appetizers, which we respectively slurped and wolfed down. Lying in the sand in the sun really takes it out of you.
The next couple of days more or less passed in a haze of sand, waves, and sun, mai tais, pina coladas, great music, giggles and people-watching. Our house, The Seahagg, was a cozy two-bedroom abode with an extra daybed that I slept on. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept on what is essentially a twin bed, and despite my best efforts to stretch out, one night—deep in the night—I fell out of bed, twice. The ‘Hagg, on stilts, swayed and groaned in the ensuring tumult as I flopped on the floor, wrapped in bedding and tried to get to my feet to remount the bed without waking the gals up. “Uh, are you OK?” Kathryn called out in the darkness the first time I fell off. “I’m great!” I chirped, jumped back on the bed — and five minutes later fell out of it again. And I swear, guys, I was sober as a judge. Embarrassing.
But the best part of the week occurred the night before.
It started out as a pathetic giggle over a bottle of wine. Bonne, Annette, Kathryn and I sat out on the deck overlooking the beach and the people out night-crabbing with their flashlights as the half-moon shone overhead. Around midnight when all was quiet and we were all fully lubricated with Annette’s finest Chardonnay, Bonne said, “Let’s go skinny-dipping!”
When you’ve had a few glasses of wine, everything sounds like a great idea, and her suggestion was no different. We spilled out of the house, naked under our towels and kept a wary eye out for the police and small children. Thank goodness it wasn’t a full moon that night, although…well, you can see where I’m going with that. Towels unfurled, we raced into the ocean, laughing like loons and splashing around for a while before making our way back up to the house for a few more giggles and a nightcap.
The next morning, it was slow-going there for a while as we all recovered from our escapade, but no regrets since we hadn’t needed any bail money, thank goodness. We headed back down to the beach for another day of sand and surf and wave-jumping.
Then I sped back up the highway (that drive from Houston to Dallas is a beast, and it nearly removed all of my post-vacation glow), but I made it! Another great week in the books with my gals. Now to finish picking sand out of all my nooks and crannies.
