When Good Egg Son drove down from Virginia to meet Dearly Beloved at the beach for some father/son bonding time, they planned nonstop activities–jogging, golf, body surfing in the ocean, more golf, and watching ballgames at night. Too much action for me.
My ideas of family bonding run more toward assembling a jigsaw puzzle and sharing a box of chocolates with me getting all the ones with nuts. I remained in Charlotte and kept Miss Piggy with me, so they were free to do whatever they wanted as long as they kept the house tidy, since realtors were showing it a couple of times.
Male Paradise. What could go wrong?
On the first afternoon, DB sent me an e-mail that while they’d been bodysurfing in the ocean, Good Egg Son lost his wedding band.
This was right after the tropical depression had blown through, so the remnants still had the ocean churning. Because the ring was platinum, the color would not provide much of a contrast between the sand and all the crushed shells. Their searching seemed a hopeless endeavor, they soon realized.
Nevertheless, they went back at low tide the next day to look some more. DB let GESon out at the beach, then went in search of a supply of quarters for the parking meter which, in a town that derives much of its revenues from parking fees, is always hungry.
GES looked up the beach and spied. . .
By the time DB parked the car, they were already searching. One of the guys is known as “best in the Southeast” and the other has been doing this for 61 years, so these weren’t guys trying out a new toy. Good Egg described the ring and the guys said that platinum was heavy and would sink immediately.
They do this for fun. Good thing, since they’d found only 24 cents so far that day.
The four of them looked for about an hour, then DB and Good Egg resignedly returned to the house. About 30 minutes later, GE’s phone rang. The guys had found a band underneath about six inches of sand.
To be specific, this ring:
The metal detector guys left the beach with a reward which was considerably larger than the 24 cents in their pockets, GE left the beach with his wedding band back on his finger, and DB left for the golf course so that Good Egg could help him find out what was missing from his golf swing.
The next morning Miss Piggy and I headed for the beach because I’d heard the magic phrase “eating out every meal.” I wanted some of that action. It had a nice ring to it.