I just noticed that I had two day 5’s. Pretty cool, huh? Yeah, me neither. Once I realized my mistake I felt embarrassed. Now I’m indifferent about it. I might forget all about it and move forward, but a sliver of the memory of that time will always remain. Or something like that.
I have this habit now (and by now I mean the past several hours) where I say, “You’re like the (insert random historical figure) of (insert action or… anything… here).” For example, being expected to re-pack all my clothes in a timely manner demanded that a certain person be deemed “the Joseph Goebbels of travel preparedness.” A particularly bad package of cookies was dubiously dubbed, “the Tori Spelling of mass-produced baked goods.”
Hi, I’m Evan. Glad you could make it to my seminar. You know what sucks? Crawling into bed at 4am and thinking, “Oh man I’m gonna sleep so late and so hard tomorrow, the morning won’t even know what hit it.” Then I got woken up at like 7am and I spent the next four hours half asleep thinking, “fuuuuuuuuuck” over and over again as I tried to make my legs and brain work. At around 11am, I decide to walk to the village market for breakfast. I found some fresh buttermilk biscuits, a candy bar and a bottle of soda. I sat outside in the sun eating and soaking in the colorful locals who were milling about town. The village has a hair salon, a Hallmark store, a dentist’s office, and two travel agencies.
At about 2:30 my uncle and I headed over to one of the eighty-billion golf courses on this island to play nine holes. I did awesome, if, by awesome, you mean the 9-holes were nine innings in a baseball game. Lots of slanted numbers. If it had been 18-holes, I would have probably done well enough to maybe win a tournament. That’s about as close as you’re gonna get to hearing my actual score. I will keep it a secret for ever. I shot in the 60s. Close to 65. I sucked, really hard. I also learned a very valuable lesson that I will keep close to heart for the rest of my life: I have little-to-no depth perception.
After golf (if you can call it that) we drove to Sandfly, a neighboring village, and had seafood at a restaurant on the marsh/water called something like… I don’t remember the name so it’s no use trying to remember. We ate a lot of food. The dishes, in ascending order, were: hush puppies (fried bread balls, like donuts, you’re supposed to dip in butter. It’s a southern thing, really good, too) shrimp and grits, calamari, and then i ordered filet of flounder. It was pretty good. Dessert was key lime pie.
Then we drove around, eventually went over to the house to see how the bedrooms were coming along. A bunch of furniture arrived! Of course, there’s still no furniture in the parts of the house that matter. There’s still a dead frog in the pantry, though. I actually didn’t bury him yesterday because during my bike ride over to the house I lost the headstone I fashioned out of toothpicks and dental floss. I was heartbroken, but I’m sure it’ll be way more hilarious to hear about the next time mom goes into the house and it stinks like death and she finds a dead frog in her pantry! Oh man, I’m already laughing just thinking about it.
I’m so overtired I might just stop this right now in the middle of my closing sent
