When you live in a small town full of old people there's not much to do on a Friday night.
Except this.
Yes, folks. We've become sunset chasers. You've heard of storm chasers? Well, uh...this is exactly the same thing. I hang perilously out of the car window yelling, "Go, Go, Gooooo! We're going to miss it!"
And then because my adrenaline is surging to the max, I may even yell some more. HURRY!!! WE"RE MISSING IT!
Mr. Wonderful puts the pedal to the metal and by golly, another sunset is conquered! And then I always always say, "look at it, isn't it GORGEOUS!" He answers, 'yeah, it looks like that every time." I gasp in horror and disbelief at his lack of amazement and remind him that he should never, never NEVER lose his sense of childlike wonder. I glare at him. He nods his head in agreement.
All is right in the world.
That's how we spend our Friday nights.
But then, Saturday comes.
This Saturday to add a little spice to our lives we decided to go to "Pirates Cove". Aye, mateys. It's basically a small dive with live music, 100 dogs laying on the porch, and beer, tattoos and clouds of cigarette smoke.
I'm not sure we fit in.
With two cups of diet coke, and a strong fake English accent, he asks, "Lovey, where's our Yacht?"
P.S. Yes, he really is THAT white. His skin repels the sun.
