So...my uber-talented friend Cathy just posted some B-E-A-utiful pictures on her blog from her recent trip to Clearwater Beach. Started me thinking about all the time we have spent there over the years. My hubby's folks live not-too-far from this beach in FL and we have visited many times. The kids both had their first beach days there. And you know, your first beach day is very important, even if you spend the whole day in a stroller under a blanket. And don't even know you were there.
Pickle at Clearwater Beach--1997
Anyway. It also got me thinking about one of the famous "dawn stories" in our family that took place at Clearwater Beach. I figured I would share it for your bloggie enjoyment. There is a wonderful restaurant at the beach called Frenchy's. (Yummmm...grouper sandwiches and buffalo shrimp. And apparently if you are so inclined, the she-crab soup is to die for. ) One day...in 1994 I believe...we were waiting outside for our table at Frenchy's. It was a lovely day, and my sister-in-law Deb and I were reclining on the sand and chatting while we waited. Our hubbies were playing frisbee or something a little ways off. I was leaning back, eyes closed, and enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face, listening to the waves and seagulls, smelling the salt water and suntan lotion. Aaaah...wish I was there now...
I was talking (no surprise there) when all of a sudden I felt a glob of wet sand land in my mouth! I abruptly sat up to tell my hubby it wasn't funny to throw sand...and caught the look of absolute horror on Deb's face. Apparently it wasn't sand. Hubby hadn't thrown anything my way. Then the realization hit me...
Seagull poop. What had landed in my mouth was none other than seagull poop. SEAGULL POOP!!!!
I mean...what is the chance of that? My mouth isn't that big. What did I do, you ask? Spit! and again...Spit! Spit! Deb, being resourceful and trying not to throw up or laugh at me, handed me her daughter's baby bottle of diluted apple juice. I quickly filled my mouth, swished and spit a few more times. I am sure I made a bit of a scene.
Later at the table, as we awaited the arrival of our buffalo shrimp, my bro-in-law asked--so dawn, what did it taste like? I told him the only thing I remembered.
Warm. And gritty.