This week, the women-folk in my family are on a mother-daughter + one token male (who's only 6 so he really doesn't even count since his voice hasn't changed yet) trip to Blue Mountain Beach, FL. (If you're reading this, do not attempt to rob my house as Neal is manning the fort...however, if you would like to bring over a pan of lasagna or a casserole, I'm sure it would be much appreciated. Man cannot live on oatmeal alone). The co-matriarchs of the family, my mother and her slightly older sister (yes Auntie, I said slightly, so quit bitchin') decided to host this 1st Annual Mother-Daughter trip to, presumably, keep the family from falling to ruins. It would be a 1st Annual Mother-Child trip, except that we seem to be a little short on men...not that they could handle the constant conversation and chaos around us anyway. The next in age is my cousin (we'll just refer to her as The Dancing Queen), then me, then The Dancing Queen's daughter (we shall call her Scarlett, minus the hoop skirt, plus a couple of well-placed tattoos and a string bikini), then Scarlett's daughter. The token male is my aunt's grandson, whom we'll just call SpongeBob because if he could legally change his name at this point, that's what his little social security card would read.
Miss Scarlett is in her early 20's and has a rockin little body, despite the fact that she has, indeed, birthed a baby. The rest of us are approaching or already speeding down the freeway of middle-age, and beginning to show the family genes in our Woman-sized jeans. This means that size-7 Scarlett has been an invaluable member of Team Florida. Keeping in mind that we have only been beached for about four days, thus far she has:
1. gotten the fine young men of Big Daddy's Bike rental to air up our human-size turtle float (but, of course, only after Auntie had gone pale and weak from lack of appropriate O2/CO2 ratio. Note to self: even if one is not traveling with a turtle float the size of a refrigerator, it is still best to pack a small foot pump for vacation...especially if one is not vacationing with Scarlett.)
2. scored us a personal invitation to hear Classic Addict, a self-proclaimed 70s and 80 rock band. As it turns out, the "band" is actually four boys who most likely rely heavily on their parents and Google to know what 70s and 80s sound like. But they did work out every morning in their driveway - which I only know because they stayed in the house right next to our beach access. They were not, however, sweating to the 70s and 80s.
3. and it's entirely possible that we have gotten better restaurant service. Although, I do have a pretty face and when seated and hidden under a layer of tablecloth, can be quite charming myself. So, I'm calling that one a draw.
It's no secret that the 20's girls have it good. If 60 is the new 50 and 30 is the new 20, then 20 is the new 17...tempting but not quite legal. But they are legal and that makes it all the sweeter for those 20-something boys who only have one thing on their mind...playing with their special purpose. The best we can do is barter with the young and beautiful. Will provide free vacation for a lil' bit o' leg and a whole lotta cleavage.