I Wish We All Could Be California Girls

My family just got back from our annual trek to Carlsbad, California – a quaint, little, beach community just north of San Diego. Each year, I’m blown away by the power of the ocean, the glorious weather, and the people. The beautiful people.

And I don’t mean beauty from within. Oh, everyone is friendly, and I’m sure they’re lovely souls, but I’m talking the exterior package. As in, “Wow! Barbie really does live.” And the guys . . . let’s just say I’m captivated by the sport of surfing.

But this year, as the week progressed, I realized a strange phenomenon, like in that movie, “The Stepford Wives.” There are no ugly people in this town.

This place is the epitome of Darwin’s Theory. If you’re ugly, you don’t work in Carlsbad. And if you don’t work, you can’t afford to live there, which means the only available mates are the beautiful ones. Hence, the stunning population.

Last week at the beach, I settled in, humbly accepting my status as a foreigner. Even if I hadn’t been the only one wearing a sweatshirt or using the blue and white-striped beach towel issued by the hotel, my thighs – a side effect of the lazy-ass syndrome from which I suffer – would’ve given it away.

I checked my kids, making sure their heads were above water and no fins were circling, then began my people watching, gathering proof for my theory. I didn’t have to look far. Right in front of me were two girls and a guy, probably twenty or so. Locals, for sure. If their bodies hadn’t given it away, the faded sheet they lay upon ended all doubt.

The girls were on their stomachs, tiny bikinis barely covering their firm, cellulite-free bottoms. Just as I was beginning to question my sexual orientation, the guy stood up. Oooh, sweet Daddy. Nope, I’m definitely straight. Broad, defined shoulders, six-pack abs, and . . . hello! You get the idea. I had to bite my lip to keep from gasping. (Wait, that’s the “Fifty Shades” girl.).

I must have made some noise, because they all looked up. Embarrassed, I waved my arms and motioned for the kids to head in. After all, we’d eaten lunch an hour earlier.It was time for ice cream.

So I’ll never live in California. Oh, well. I’ve been told I have a great personality.

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10 thoughts on “I Wish We All Could Be California Girls

  1. Love, love, love your work. I honestly think you should be a national comlumnist – Dave Barrt move over!!!!

  2. I just have one question…what flavor ice cream did you get? LOL! No, seriously I was going to say that I, too, an captivated by the sport of surfing. 😉 Thanks for sharing your vacation highlights and I’m glad you didn’t bite your lip off.

    • I have to tell you, the minute I wrote about biting my lip, I thought about you and our book review. And it’s not about the flavor of ice cream, it’s all the toppings. Vanilla can be quite delightful when combined with pecans, raspberries, hot fudge….

  3. You crack me up, Chris. I bet Calrsbad doesn’t even have a Golden Corral. Now there’s a beautiful place…the endless chocolate fountain, the cotton candy machine and all you can eat fried chicken. Ah, Texas at its finest.

    And I agree with everyone else about the Erma Bombeck statement. You have a gift.

    Kristin Noel Fischer

    • Shut the front door! Cotton candy machine?! How come I never knew this? We need to forget about margaritas and have our next at GNO at Golden Corral. Thanks for stopping by. I always see your smile when I read your comments.

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