And an island. Living on an island would surely cure everything too.
Well, and the vodka would help to enhance the experience.
Summer is coming to a grand slam CLOSE and my heart is going to give up the ghost.
How can summer even think about leaving us ? What a freakin’ meanie.
If
END OF SUMMER
had a face,
I would punch it.
1. I gave up hope on my potted flowers about 2 months ago. They were dead about 10 minutes after I bought them. I have a BLACK thumb. They were NOT my end of summer clue.
2. I silently pray that school will begin again. Don’t judge, or I will have to punch you in the face too.
3. I reaffirm my goal in life every.single.time when I know that the snow is coming :
…..Here it is…wait for it…wait for it…..
It is the ” I DREAM OF LIVING ON AN ISLAND ” time of year again.
To live in a beach-side hut and sip insanely delicious tipsy tea vodka cocktails ~All~day~long~
What?! You don’t drink VODKA? WTF?! Yeah, me neither*
* I lie.
If you want to travel to the dark side, you could just lick the sides of the glass and/or stare at me enjoying it. I’m not new.
Or you could just dream of sweet, intoxicating vodka bevies.
Are you concerned about the tea? Or the Vodka? No worries, the smell of the vodka is disguised by the tea. Your morning guests will have no clue what you are dipping into.
Want to pretend you are living on an island?!
It all starts here :
I am wholeheartedly convinced that if I lived on that island, that all my problems would be abolished. In my head, anyway. I will be sloshed from the TIPSY TEA that I so eloquently poured into a coconut shell.
What ?! what what?! What problem?! No shirt, no shoes, no problem.
Truth is, nothing could possibly be as bad as the sand in my bathing suit bottom. I hate that. I will remind myself that if I didn’t dip in the sea to take a pee, then I wouldn’t have sand in my pants. Did I just say that in my outside voice? My bad. Bite me.
The fish do it.
So can I.
Island life = I will get lost in books.
Nasty smutty books.
Fifty Shades of BLUSH Grey.
Here is the reason why Fifty Shades has shackled readers :
Fifty Shades of sexuality. Hellloooo. That would shackle me to a hammock, foooshur.
This will be my bookmark.
‘Cause I will roll like that.
On my island.
I won’t speak in complete sentences.
That will be easy.
I don’t do that now.
You see, I just told you that island story to distract you from the end of summer blues.
Because end of summer blues suck.
Monster truck, SUCK.
How else will I know that summer is ending?
4. The birds will stop crapping on my car windshield. How is it, that a bird knows how to aim so well? I think they plan their crap attacks on cars. Just sayin’.
That will NOT be problem on my island.
This will be my new mode of transportation :
I’ll spend my days sipping vodka, park the BOAT and sleep in a hammock.
With my filthy reading.
Because that is fun. And no one will catch me reading such smut. I’m on an island.
That’s right. Got it all figured out.
I DREAM.
The good news is that I guess there is no need to finish unpacking my SUMMER CLOTHES from the stupid bin that I left them in all summer. Smart as a whip.
I am. I am.
SCRATCH THAT ONE OFF the list.
I only make lists so I can scratch things off of them anyway.
Anyone have a beach hut that I can live in?
I promise to decorate it.
You will hardly notice that I am there. Minus the VODKA missing from your liquor cabinet.
Looking for me?
I’ll be on the beach with a grass skirt and picnic basket full of trouble.
You will laugh so hard, the TIPSY TEA will come right outta ‘yer nose.
Pack the trashy books and the shark repellant.
Throw in some lemon and limes.
See you at the beach house that YOU are inviting me to.
Isak Dineson said it best :
THE CURE FOR ANYTHING IS
SALT WATER
SWEAT
TEARS
OR THE SEA.
And {uhhhum} Lynne Knowlton said it even better.
Add some VODKA to the mix, and I will join you.
LOVE,
The pee’ing Mermaid {shhhh…}