ONLY IN THE KEYS | By Jana Vandelaar
You have to watch who you push into the water
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Posted - Friday, November 06, 2009 11:00 AM EST
How many times have you found a pair of Spanx in the parking lot of a nice restaurant? A wacky find — even for the Keys. But it happened.
My husband and I attended an elegant fundraiser where we actually had to dress up a bit more than normal. Here in the Keys, this means a lot of guests wore both underwear and shoes that can’t be called thongs. By the end of the night, the tight shoes were off and, apparently, so were the tight undies. All I know is the fundraiser was a complete success. Like my husband says, “A party isn’t a party without having a few clothes discarded.”
Especially true in the Keys.
Another truism for a party in the Keys is, more likely than not, you’re gonna get wet in some varying degree of wetness. Let’s pretend we’re an antiperspirant commercial and rate the wetness levels here in the Keys:
The wetness scale
Level 1: Sweat
First, count on sweating until mid-November. So, forget about wearing the Spanx and tight shoes. Your body begins to revolt and slowly swell — sort of like a group of rebels gathering strength by increasing their numbers and encouraging more to join in their fight. By the end of the night, your shoes don’t have a chance and they must be destroyed (or removed) followed by the tightie whities.
Even if you’re not a sweater, (I’m talking about someone who sweats...not an actual piece of clothing) by the end of the night you’ll get hugged by a sweater and, bam, you’re wet.
Level 2: Drink splashing
It’s inevitable to be splashed by a cocktail at any party. Never hang around someone with red wine at a dinner party unless you like the color or unless you’re wearing red. It’s not smart. Just stay clear and wave from across the pool until their wineglass is empty.
Level 3: Dock/pool shove
I’ve lived here almost 19 years and I should know better than to walk on a dock with anything of value attached to me. No purse, no child, and especially no electronics. But, if you’ve read any of my previous articles, I’ve been packing a lot in my bra lately, which means my electronics can usually be found there. My bra has become my carryall.
It’s gotten pretty bad when my daughter walked up to me and professionally patted me down in the breast area. When I indignantly asked what in the hell she was doing, she looked at me as if saying, “duh” and told me she was trying to find her Nintendo DS. I gave her a stern lecture about respecting other people’s bodies before digging the Nintendo out of the left side of my bra. How dare she?
I’m embarrassed when I do hug someone. Not just because I’m a sweater, but because I know they get dented in their chest by my brabaggage. After a hug from me, people can’t look at me in the eye. It’s like they think I’ve either had a really bad boob job or I’ve got some major bodily defects going on and they don’t want to address it.
Anyway, I did the unthinkable. I walked out on a dock one afternoon with my brabaggage intact. A bunch of kids and adults were having the time of their life, swimming, jumping off the dock and attacking each other with water guns. An American dream. And then it happened. I was the victim of a dock shove. Of course. As I flew through the air, you should have seen me grab for my boobs. “I’m carrying a loaaaad!” I screamed as I hit the water.
My daughter swam over as fast as she could. I reached my hand out to her, thankful she was so diligent. She bypassed my hand and went straight for my boobs. “Mom! Is my Nintendo DS in there?”
My girlfriends who lovingly pushed me in, pulled me out and watched with dread as I pulled out one electronic gadget after another. “Wow. I had no idea you could carry that much in there,” Katie murmured, kicking the sand.
The worst of it, in my opinion, is by the end of the week, my buds had everything replaced. A new camera arrived, a new phone, a new Nintendo DS, etc. I was horrified. How could they know that I had my bra packed to the hilt? It wasn’t their fault. They were determined to replace what they thought they had damaged. I was determined to send everything back.
Until I tried the camera.
“This is actually pretty nice. A lot nicer than my old one,” I said to my friend, Julie. “Yeah,” she said. “Do you think I could fit my old dishwasher in that bra of yours for the next pool party?”
It just might fit next to my old broken hairdryer. Gives another meaning entirely to the word SEACUP.
