(Memorial Day: We can never be thankful enough to all those who serve and have served.) Memorial Day... Isn't it wonderful? Hoards of people fought and died defending this Country and its freedoms all over the globe, just so I could get a bra for half-price. (And... to digress a moment because that's what I do ... I didn't appreciate that when I had one on backorder, a store sent me a postcard... a postcard of all things, announcing: "Hear Ye! Hear Ye! Your Bally's 34D extra support black bra is on its way!" Although, I'll have to say, that postcard has saved me money. Since that fateful afternoon when I snatched that damn thing out of my mailbox, I've never felt the need to give my mailman anything around the December holidays. I figure that postcard should hold him for a lifetime.)
And for most of us here in the U.S., Memorial Day weekend takes on other meanings. It marks the unofficial start of when rational people lose their minds. First there's the TV news report showing the traffic headed to the beach backed up 2700 miles. Well, who could have predicted that on a Friday night at 6pm at the start of a three day weekend when it was going to be sunny and 83 degrees there'd be a lot of cars facing the beach?
The next shocker for normally rational people is that the gas prices mysteriously jumped in the past few days. Year after year we seem to always forget the strong link between political unrest in the Middle East and a three-day weekend in Myrtle Beach.
Then there are those of us who work hard all year to take good care of ourselves by what we eat and how we exercise who use the long weekend to defy the laws of melanoma. To many, the beach is just one humongous deep-fryer into which we toss ourselves in hopes of transforming into one giant order of hush puppies and corn fritters.
And then of course, there are about 30% of us women who wear bikinis, although there are probably only 2% of us who should. I, for one, think I look great in my 34D postcard bra and panties, but when I put on any brand bikini, something unkind happens. I go from Demi Moore to SpongeBob's friend Patrick in a matter of seconds... Then there are a percentage of guys who wear Speedos. In my opinion, there's no way to win with a Speedo. Either you look terrible in it, or you look narcissistic in it. Either way... if I ever had thoughts of seeing you out of one... I still never want to see you in one.
And then of course, most of us commemorate the holiday weekend by eating ourselves into a stupor. Sure, lots of people drink themselves into a stupor, but I personally don't drink so I have to make up for it by eating my weight in whatever anyone chooses to stuff into a bun and smother in ketchup.