So when you drive over 1300 miles to have some fun in the warm sun, you don’t really expect to end up doing this:
You might notice a couple of things wrong with this picture. A.) I’m wearing jeans during the day, which is just all kinds of wrong, yo. It’s F-L-O-R-I-D-A for crap’s sakes!!!! It should be illegal to be wearing jeans during the day down here. It IS the freaking “sunshine state” after all. B.) We are driving around in the car after having driven around in the car for TWENTY-TWO FLIPPING HOURS!!! My ass should’ve been protesting that idea up and down and all around.
Perhaps an explanation is needed for the odd photo above. Waking up to a whopping 68 degree high with mostly cloudy skies while you’re on vacation poses a bit of a problem when you’ve got two very active six year olds to entertain. So we once again piled into the family fun mobile and headed out in search of something to do. Our search brought us to none other than the giant red bullseye:
Now the males of the bunch only lasted about ten minutes wondering the infinite number of aisles in this particular Super Target, while my daughter and I could’ve played around in the accessories department for hours. All the bitching and moaning from the boys, however, won out, and we set out once again on the hunt for more entertainment.
Our next stop was on Captiva Island, where my daughter wanted to look for shells. And holy shell explosion, did she ever hit the mother load! We had no other choice but to wear our shoes because shells literally covered every single inch of sand.
We grabbed what we could without being blown away by the chilly winds, but overall, I’d say she did quite well in adding to her already massive collection, don’t ya think?
Maybe the smell of all these stinky-ass shells will help to cover up the inevitable stank of puke that will fill our car on the return trip home to Chicago at the end of the week. Here’s hopin’ anyway….
After a long day of trying to make up for a lost day of swimming in the surf, we decided to find a place to eat for dinner, as did the rest of the 50,000 other spring breakers on the island with us. Every friggin’ restaurant had over an hour wait for a table, which just doesn’t work when you’ve got two tired and hungry short people with you. We finally ended up at a teensy tiny Mexican restaurant, where my daughter had the right idea:
What better way to celebrate the end of a long day than bellying up to the old bar?