Smuggler's Blues

“Perhaps you'd understand it better
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.