Standin' in my shoes,
It's the ultimate enticement,
It's the smuggler's blues,
Smuggler's blues."
-Glen
Fry
While I am fairly certain the former Eagles front man was referring
to the drug trade when he sang these lyrics to the 80’s hit song, this past
weekend I experienced a different kind of Smuggler’s Blues.
I woke early Monday morning in a cold sweat and a deep
rooted fear of the possible. One of the
truly “wrong” things in the history of this world reared its ugly head (bad choice of words, you will learn)
before my eyes over this past weekend.
Not only did it appear in front of me once, but twice. Not only did this evil appear twice, it
appeared in the form of a child; both times.
Can this horror actually be happening?
Is some divine force intervening and causing this pain I have
suffered?
What is that which I speak of, you ask?
Answer: Grape Smuggler Bathing Suits.
Urban Dictionary.com defines Grape Smuggler as follows…
“A tight piece of clothing for the lower body (usually a speedo)
that clearly displays the male genetalia.”
Yes, I am truly sad to report these occurrences. On Saturday, I witnessed a boy, approximately
age 6, wearing a constricting bathing suit while we were visiting family at
their town pool club. I actually did the
quadruple-take when I saw this grotesque site.
Now, before you grab that waste basket to throw up in, let me soften the
blow a little bit; the smuggler we speak of was not of the “speedo” variety,
but rather a tight fitting spandex-type bathing suit. Nonetheless, this is not a whole lot better. As my neck nearly snapped from contorting it
around like that girl in The Exorcist
I was simply awe struck. I quickly
realized I was staring at this kid Sandusky-style and needed to redirect my
gaze before the authorities (or ‘Pimples’, the 17 year old Life Guard on duty)
were called to action.
As I started to speed walk back to our seating area, I
decided I should not feel badly for staring at this injustice. What kind of parents would dress their
toddler in such garb? Is this mother
possibly blind? I sat in my chair and
quickly searched for an alcoholic beverage (or a hot poker to gouge my eyes) in
my kids’ beach bag. DAMN! Only juice boxes. A few minutes passed as I continued to try to
wrap my arms around this fiasco and come up with a rational explanation.
Is it possible this is
some type of ‘floatie underwear’ this poor boy was wearing for safety’s sake? No, the whole physics/center of gravity-thing
throws this theory of the window.
Maybe it is the bottom
part of some cool wetsuit? Not a
chance. We are in an 80 degree pool and I
don’t see a wetsuit top or surfboard on the premises.
Wait, wait, wait.
They must be foreign! Yes,
that’s’ the ticket. Maybe they are
French-Canadians visiting their American cousins or something? That has to be the answer. No?
And then I heard it….
Mom of ‘Junior McTwigginberries’ shouting across pool is a most
heinous Massachusetts accent…
“Taaaawwwwmy, get ovah
heyah and get some sunscreen awn ya!”
(Sigh)
Well, I am out of guesses.
Clearly this was an intentional act of cruelty and it appeared as if I
was the only one who was witnessing the utter insanity of this scene.
Before I knew it, I realized I had not checked in on my own
three kids who could now easily be in a steel cage breath-holding match at the
bottom of the pool for all I know.
Anyway, I decided to just mind my Ps and Qs and enjoy the rest of the
afternoon. I will simply chalk this one
up to random chance. This poor kid will
likely undergo years of psycho-analysis and be the subject of ridicule. Bon Jour, ‘Little Jacque LaRocks’! You are going to need it.
I deliberately deleted these surreal swimming
shenanigans from my memory bank; until the next day when the demons I had exorcised would
return. Once again they would appear in
the form of a child.
On a beautiful and warm Sunday, I needed to occupy my
cherubs with some fun, aquatic activity.
With Mom at work, I decided to take them to our local pond where there
is a great family beach, a dock for the kids to jump off, etc., etc. Another relaxing day in the sun and a chance
for the kids to safely play and stay cool at the same time. As I set them free to enjoy the day, I sat my
white Irish arse down in a comfy beach chair and grabbed the newspaper. Today was a going to be a nice lazy day without
strange wardrobes puzzles to pontificate.
And then it happened again.
As I looked up over the Comics, er Sports, section, I saw it
again. I could not believe my eyes. Yet another small boy wearing an altered
version of the classic Banana Hammock!
What the? I jumped up quickly
and, again, stared toward the dock at ‘Jean Claude Van DAMN BOY WHAT ARE YOU
WEARING’!?!
After gladly peeling my eyes away from ‘Smallsy Smuggler #2’,
I frantically looked all around me praying the French Foreign Legion had landed
on this small beach and we were under attack by some mutant midget army of seed
swaddlers? Once again, no such
luck. This child was the spawn of, what
appeared to be, a normal American family that was sitting just steps from my
perch.
Well, this is just too much.
Did I miss some new style, trend, or fad for kids? Is there some medical reason these boys are
dressed like they part of some adolescent Tour de France Fan Club? Is it possible that these ‘coin purse cut
offs’ were scientifically designed to keep the sun away from ‘Marvin Gaye and
the Grapevines’? (that’s what I heard)
You know what? I
don’t care and I don’t really want to know.
I am defeated and not going to waste one more second pondering why these
odd children and their parents are attempting to sneak ‘Cheech and Chong’ over
the border. Not my problem. Not on my watch.
Come on kids, time to go.
You can play inside….for the rest of the summer.
