Blingin' and Laughin' Loud

I think I've figured something out... most people who have money are skinnier than us. And they also don't laugh as loud. Pa and I took our last hurrah of the season to the beach this weekend. Somehow we got a really cheap room in the heart of an expensive section of one of those fancy beach towns. Those places where people get up really early and run or ride their bikes. They do Crossfit in the parking lot. You have to watch constantly so that you won't run over five of them on the way to Hardees in the morning. There's not a Hardees for 20 miles, so that's a feat as well. All the fancy dining spots are outside, where it's still hot. What? Those people don't sweat, either, except when they're supposed to, like when they're exercising or paddle-boarding. 

We ate breakfast one morning in one of them elegant restaurants and I saw yuppies cutting up their kids' pancakes and fruit. These kids were, like, 8-10 years old, not toddlers. My eyes got wide and I thought the woman might cut me up too, so I tried not to laugh. Then there was the evening where we went to a Mexican restaurant for twice what it costs at home. I wore my deluxe new leggings with roses on them, with a blousy, fun top and my normal amount of bling. Nothing super special but I felt pretty spiffy. An imperious lady looked me up and down like I was some sort of circus freak, so I grinned and looked her up and down. She never did smile, but Ken thought I was mighty cute. There were so many beautiful buildings and people. I was impressed with all the kids and parents who were cycling on those old-timey cruiser bikes. It was great to see everyone so active and out in the air, not just marooned in their rooms. But what I found odd about the bike thing was this: if you're lucky enough to be staying and riding around in Seaside on a vintage beach cruiser, don't you think you'd be just giddy about it? I mean, it's one of the most wonderful places on earth and you get to be there. So why so serious?! The adults, in particular, seemed grim and determined. You're not on a racing bike. You're not in a marathon. For the life of me I couldn't get why so many people needed to be taken seriously when they were riding around on a cotton-candy-coated chunk of love. Oh well. Once again, there's some things that money can't buy. But I wish to goodness I could have bought a few more days down there. I'm not ready to be a grownup again. Maybe I'll string up those party lights and turn up the radio.