As most of you know, “The Fly” had a most disturbing mountain vacation last summer. Well, I’ve done it again.
It all started when the Mrs. wanted to venture off to some water park resort area, so that our three kids could go on slides and flimsy rafts. Much to my chagrin, this trip was coordinated with one of the neighboring families.
The Fathers name is Dave. Dave is a decent guy with a rather subdued demeanor. However, one thing that stands out is his egregious tan. See, Dave is jewish; but he looks African-American—due to his obsession with celestial fireballs.
With zero experience driving up to this “resort,” coupled with hating my navigation system, I decided to trail Dave, all the way there.
Unbeknownst to me, aside from his addiction to harmful rays and cigarettes, Dave thinks he’s a race car driver too. With 4 kids in his car, Dave felt it was necessary to, at all times, double the allowable speed limit. On several occasions, he had to slow down to a paltry 80mph, so that I could catch up. He was booking 90mph down winding mountain curves, just so that he could make it to the poolside extra early.
After my nightmarish drive, we took our seats near one of the pools and began to apply sunscreen to the kids.
Being the tough guy that I am, when Mrs. Fly asked me if I wanted any (sunscreen), I said: “nah, I’m okay.” I even took time out of my day to point a finger (or two) at men with sunscreen all over their faces, calling them “bird sh*t bathers,” while chuckling (I never laugh).
Anyway, my older son made sure his Dad (me) went on all the insane rides. We waited on long lines, in order to slide down some tunnels, going like 300mph, depositing us into murky pools.
On one slide, I thought it made sense to have my younger kids “go it alone.” To make a long story short, on one of the mat slides, my youngest son dislodged from the mat. Seeing this occur, anxiously, I waited for him at the end of the tunnel, preparing to catch him. Much to my chagrin, he was traveling at the speed of sound by the time he made it to the end, effectively knocking me under water (head first backwards)—knocking both of my water shoes off. Thinking fast, with one arm, I held him up by his life jacket, while I began the process of drowning in some dishonorable pool. Quickly, I let go of him, so that I could catch my footing and take him out of the water. Mind you, all of this occurred in front of a teenage lifeguard, who was laughing at my plight, as she applied sun tanning lotion to her arms.
Following that, we went on a variety of long lines, just for some cheap 10 second thrills, most of which were of no amusement to me.
By 4pm, I started to feel very hot. The altitude was high and the sun was robust. Having an Irish complexion was of no help to “The Fly,” as the devil’s son beat down on his Godly flesh. Going back to my lounge chair, I saw Dave taking in rays like a solar panel. That man makes Angelo Mozilo look like a pale nordic or an albino—no kidding.
Suddenly, he made an offhand remark to me: “boy are you going to feel it tomorrow.”
“Huh,” I shot back.
I scurried back to the unpleasant restroom to get a glance at the mirror. Upon reflection, I knew it was too late.
I was burnt to a cinder.
Quickly, I asked Mrs. Fly for some of that “cowardly sunscreen.” She obliged. However, this time, she was rather obnoxious about the whole ordeal—with sort of an “I told you so” tone to her voice.
Unfortunately, I was “forced” to remain in that sun infested hellhole, for another 3 hours. The sunscreen did very little to help alleviate the constant drubbing that fireball appropriated to my face, back, legs and arms.
By the end of that day, the sun had flexed its muscle on Senor Tropicana and reduced his agility to nil, who’s movements resembled those of old people in wheeled chairs or morons from the 80’s “doing the robot.”
After that, I followed Mr. Bronze aka Dave, all the way back home—who found it necessary to make numerous lane changes along the way, doing 100mph in the darkest freeways known to man.
Off to apply some aloe vera.