Hey, I'm just the messenger!

There's a walking path along the beach on the North shore that my hub and I frequently frequent on Sunday afternoons when we're sick of keeping the sabbath day holy.  

The North Shore is a great place to walk when you want to pretend you're not living in a bubble or when you simply want to feel like an OMM (overdressed modbe Mormon).  So yesterday I got overdressed and headed North.  As I sped along the pristine Hawaiian shoreline two words that will never escape from my lips came to mind: Glorious and Tremendous.  

I refuse to let these two words into my vocabulary because my MIL spits them out for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but every so often, like profanity, they spontaneously escape from my subconscious brain when my eyes are bedazzled by the sparkling Aqua Fresh ocean against the Downy blue sky full of cotton ball clouds.  

(Does anyone else suddenly feel the urge to brush their teeth and do the laundry?)

In short, it was another tremendously glorious day in paradise.  

I parked at Sunset beach and attacked my walk like a pit bull, determined to be fit and fabulous at forty (ish).  Left. Right. Left. Right.   

I was marching along when the palm trees suddenly started yawning.  They swwwwwwayed baaaaaaaaack and fffffffffforth, toooooooooo and ffffffffffro, whispering "You are getting sleeeeeeepy.  Verrrrrrry sleeeeeeeepy."

Then the waves began strrrrrrretching themselves out across the sand in down dog position.  "What's your hurry?"  they chanted, moving gracefully from cobra pose to monkey pose to lion pose to cow face pose to cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof pose. 

Then the bouganville winked and told me to chill out and the sand beckoned me to come and play. 

 

Against my will my pace began to slowwwwwwww wayyyyyyyy dowwwwwn.  

Before long I could barely put one foot in front of the other.  

When I reached Pipeline I pulled a Forrest Gump and just stopped.  I was just done.  

I plopped myself down on the beach under the shade of a palm tree, took off my running shoes, dug my feet into the cool sand and propped myself back on my elbows.  I inhaled and exhaled. I inhaled again.  

Then I started to cry

Wah Wah Wah!  

And it wasn't because of the beautiful bronze goddess jogging by in her sparkly black bikini.  It was because I was thinking about Jon and Kate plus 8.  I hate it when people break up after they have sextuplets.  

(KATE!  STOP bossing Jon around!  And JON!  Stop having your mid-life crisis.)  

Okay, I didn't really cry, but there really was a beautiful bronze goddess jogging by in a sparkly black bikini.   

An extremely hairy old man (I'm talking Robin Williams hairy) with a crooked neck gave her a friendly wave and said hello as she jogged past him.  Then he turned around and checked her out from the back side.  

When he reached me he didn't wave or say hello.   But maybe he didn't see me sitting right in his path.  But fyi and ftr and btw, another hairy old man DID say hello.   In fact he stopped to chat with me.  When he found out I was an OMM he asked me if I wanted to be his nanny.  

Of course I had to regretfully decline, being that I have 4 kids of my own, but I said I understood his desire to hire a Mormon girl.   You can trust Mormon girls. 

His eyes narrowed into little slits.  

And then he leaned forward.  

Closer.  

Closer.

Closer. 

I puckered up in case he tried to kiss me.  

But instead he reached down and picked up a chewy granola bar wrapper which had been discarded on the ground next to me. 

"This yours?" he asked. 

"Of course not," I stammered, but his eyes said tsk tsk tsk. "I don't even eat chewy granola bars."  

But the seed of suspicion had been planted.  I was guilty by association. 

Then before he turned away shaking his head he looked me straight in the eye and said, "are Mormon girls really trustable?" 

What the what the what???

I lie not, peeps (except about puckering up for a kiss).  Could I make up such a tall tale about a word like trustable?   I'm an English teacher for goodness sake. 

There's a moral here.  There's a definite moral. 

Jon and Kate should NOT break up! 

(Hey, I'm just the messenger.)