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| Toby and Toba On the Beach |
So last week, I--officially single--and my friend Toba (yes I know it's matchy-matchy, Toby and Toba) whose first-rate husband was visiting grandkids cross country, took off for the Delaware/Maryland shore. For this last gasp of summer vacation, our baggage included an iPad, Kindle, laptops, more shoes than clothes ...but no neon green noodles and floaties for kids now grown, and a not a single bottle of aftershave. Refreshing.
We didn't stop at the fashion outlets clustered along the route. We may buy stylish, but we no longer buy trendy, so what we've got lasts. We picked up fresh corn and tomatoes at the Little Red Wagon farm store on the approach to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, a span whose height and leap-into-the-abyss design is a magnet for bridge phobia. Through clenched teeth, we sang our way across: "Everybody's gone surfin', surfin' U.S.A."
Arriving mid-morning, we hustled into swimsuits. No men. So no fear of judgment by those who'd seen us in bikinis in our twenties or could compare us to decades of Playboy centerfolds. Neither of us asked, "Does my ass look good?" I did wear a miracle suit constructed with the genius of Leonardo. Its powerful fabric and brilliant architecture flatten the tummy and somehow iron muffin tops sleek. Toba wore a tank twosome that allows women not to have to peel an entire clingy one-piece from a moist, sandy body when nature calls. Whoever came up with that cleverness deserves to share the Nobel Prize with the inventor of Spandex.
On the beach, we didn't discuss the coming election, the state of the union, the prospects of the Redskins, or the stock market. We could have. We know that kind of stuff. But unlike folks of the XY variety, we XXs can leave the world behind while gazing at a horizon of sky caressing sea. Nor did we ogle men in Speedos which we both think are ridiculous to the point of giggles.
That first night, dinner was just sweet corn and luscious Maryland tomatoes. For dessert, we made tracks to Dumser's, a local ice cream stand and ordered kiddy cones based on Toba's brilliant logic that two kiddy cones equal one small cone which allowed us to double up our daily quotient of ice cream.
Thus began our almost week away. Daytime, I researched my next book by scouting beach houses and shops in Bethany Beach and Rehoboth--possible settings. I interviewed locals for background. Toba did her own work with diligent focus. We spent a few morning hours on the beach and sunsets sipping wine on the balcony above it. Dinner was always just a haphazard prelude to Dumser's soft-serve. Or gelato on the boardwalk. Or both. Toba spoke multiple times to her husband whom she missed, but not overmuch. I got a message from someone who missed me. He was looking forward to my returning home. Home? Looking forward? Not overmuch. We would be there all too soon.
On the way back, with our stress level dialed down to zero, the Bay Bridge seemed less ominous. Once over, we stopped at a family-run store where the ice cream was made from milk produced by cows grazing on the dairy farm behind us. The young woman behind the counter convinced us to order the small size instead of kiddy cones. "I can make them with two flavors," she tempted. They came out with double scoops of bittersweet chocolate and cappuccino chip. She smiled at our guilty delight, a fresh faced beauty, heading back to college and into the world with options and opportunities spread before her like endless grains of sand on beach.
Did
we envy her? After a vacation impossible at any other time in our lives, not a
bit. Not a bit even the size of a cappuccino chip. Toby Devens
How about you? What was the best vacation of your life? Have you ever gone on holiday with just the gals? Recommend it?
Toby in a Two-piece at 21
