Strange Ducks #7 - The Foibles of Beauty
Plus The Futility of Travel Plans
It’s been a hectic couple of weeks here that have distracted me away from cartooning.
First, it was the July 4th getaway. After that, I spent my time renovating our home’s bathroom. If any of you have read or listened about my previous experiences working on my house, you’d know construction on it is a combination of archaeological dig and troublesome experimental reconstructive surgery.
Due to this, both experiences left me somewhat creatively drained—and that was before even reading any news regarding US politics!
Thankfully, my wife and life have given me enough recent experiences to squeeze out a fine cup of comedic lemonade for us all to sip.
This post is dedicated to my Uncle Bill, who always enjoys a funny story about my wife, Deb.
The Foibles of Beauty
Last week, while I was toiling away on construction, my wife Deb was away on a business trip to Pasadena, which, aside from seeing a bunch of flower petal covered parade floats, is perhaps the only other reason to visit that city.
Deb was there to attend a business conference in one of the city’s many fine hotels.
As with any other business conference, there was the typical number of meetings, seminars, and, of course, the after-work dinner and drink meet-ups.
Deb was looking forward to this conference to show off her “New You.” Over the last few months through a combination diet and exercise, she had lost close to 30 pounds, and quite frankly, for a woman in her sixth decade of life, she looked amazing.
In preparation for the trip, and since it was during July in sunny southern California, she packed several new summer outfits. She also brought with her a variety of shoes that perfectly matched these outfits.
From the moment she arrived at the hotel and started mingling with the other attendees, Deb garnered compliments from those who knew her, and some mild flirtation from those who didn’t. This all combined to help bolster her self-image to let her know that she still maintained her “Pretty Girl” status.
That’s what she jokingly referred to it as when she called me up from the hotel the first day.
Now, mind you, Deb is a feminist and isn’t vanity-obsessed, but she does appreciate it when people notice her beauty. Sure, she’d love to have them notice her brilliance, but she acknowledges that we live in a shallow world focused on appearances.
(On a side note, I have always wondered how she came to love an unkempt schlub like myself.)
Deb was enjoying herself at this conference. On the last night of the event, after the day’s seminars, she was invited out to dinner with her co-workers.
Before going out for the night’s dinner, Deb returned to her room to change clothes. She had the perfect cute summer dress picked out for the evening. The shoes she matched with it were a pair of platform wedge-heeled sandals whose heels were wrapped with a sateen weave of delightful multicolored ribbons.
After Deb dressed, she looked at herself in her hotel room mirror and proudly announced, “I’m a Pretty Girl!” Then, she exited her room and headed to the elevator.
As she walked toward the elevator, Deb heard a sound.
Flak-wap. Flak-wap,. Flak-wap.
She attributed it to her platforms scuffing along the hallway carpet and thought nothing more of it. As she popped into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby, she remembered it had been quite some time since she had worn these shoes, and had forgotten they could make that sound on carpeting.
Standing in the elevator, she checked her reflection on the polished metal walls.
“Yep, still fabulous.” She thought.
The elevator doors opened to the lobby. She saw her co-workers standing across the room and began walking toward them.
Flak-wap. Flak-wap. Flak-wap went her shoes.
Deb was confused. The lobby floor was tiled. Her sandals shouldn’t be making that sound on this kind of floor. She stepped over near a table to inspect her footwear.
Flak-wap. Flak-wap. Flak-wap.
She looked down at her feet and saw that the platform wedge was nearly separated from the straps around her foot! She realized that she was in imminent danger of a hazardous footwear failure!
Her mind raced to remember when she last wore these shoes. Was it really almost a dozen years ago? Was storing them in the damp, moldy garage a mistake?
Deb carefully shuffled over to her co-workers.
Foop. Foop. Foop.
She told them she had to pop back up to her room to change her shoes. Her co-workers wondered why since she looked absolutely fabulous. Deb told them it was an emergency. She wanted to avoid any chance of a surprise ankle breaking!
Deb turned and, not as carefully, walked back to the elevator.
Flak-wap. Flak-wap,. Flak-wap.
As she neared the elevator doors, a man smiled at her. Deb smiled back and thought to herself, “Yes! I’m still a pretty girl!”
Flakkkk—
A split second later, her platform heels flew off in one direction, and Deb fell in another! As she tumbled across the lobby floor, she saw that the sandal straps were still attached to her feet.
Onlookers quickly rushed to her aid. The hotel’s concierge was just about to press 911.
But thankfully, Deb knows how to take a tumble. God knows I’ve seen her spill down stairs, hiking paths, and over lawn furniture, and she lands better than a Cirque De Soleil acrobat. This time, Deb collected herself from the floor and stood up. The only damage she incurred was to her ego, which was still loudly professing her “Pretty Girl” status.
Here’s a small story about our trip to the Washington Coast for the 4th of July.
The Futility of Travel Plans
Have you ever had one of those vacations where you realize that you might have made a huge mistake when you arrived at your destination?
Deb and I had that experience this past July 4th.
Around that holiday, Vancouver, Washington, becomes a nonstop war zone of morons trying to light up the sky, light up their neighbor's trees, and also blow their own hands off in an orgy of fireworks fetishism.
I used to enjoy fireworks displays, but then I became a dog owner. Watching my poor little Zeke shiver, shake, and lose his mind while the thunder gods displayed their anger for days on end made me look at the 4th with a different set of eyes—and ears.
Therefore, since owning Zeke, we’ve struggled to spend the holiday in locations that offer peace and quiet each year.
We thought that a remote section of the Washington Coast would be such a place, but boy, we were wrong.
I’ll return to that in a moment, but first, let me tell you about the other items we encountered that set off the “Big Mistake” warning bells.
Our stay was to be at the Crescent Crest Resort in wonderfully remote Moclips, Washington.
After driving three and a half hours to the place and pulling into their parking lot, I immediately noticed that my definition of the word “resort” was vastly different from how the locals in Moclips define it.
Looking at the facade and the main office of the place, I’d say that “resort” was synonymous with “ramshackle,” “rundown,” and most definitely “outdated.” At least it wasn’t as bad as a Motel Six, but it was definitely in the running for Motel Fifth.
Our room was on the second floor, conveniently above the check-in office. I assumed this was in case we wanted to shout through the air vents for room service or needed more toilet paper.
The room itself should have come with a warning to those who had vertigo or were slightly inebriated.
That’s because the room floor had a thirty-degree slant. If anyone came running into the room, the slant would have them running through the glass patio door and over the balcony railing. And what a surprise that would be, since the whole resort sits on the edge of a cliff overlooking the beach!
The whole time we were there, I didn’t really sleep since it was apparent that this place was one landslide away from becoming a beachside property.
On a positive note, this slant to room ensured that you could roll out of bed bright and early in the morning—or any other time of the day for that matter. It also allowed me to try a novel sleeping position: hooking my feet over the edge of the bed like a bat clinging to a cave wall.
But, as I said, I didn’t really sleep. This was due not only to the landslide threat but also to the fact that the bed had all the comfort of sleeping on a car hood—after it had been in a front-end collision!
The pillows on the bed were equally as bad. They offered the same plush support as resting your head on a lump of wet cement.
There were other minor annoyances with this stay such as the food choices and the quality of resort pool, but the main tip-off that we had made a grave mistake in our choice of vacation spots was when we stopped at a shop down the road from the “resort.”
I asked the shopkeeper if Moclips was fairly quiet during the 4th. She replied by telling me that there would be “some” fireworks down on the beach, but it was the Indian reservation a mile up the road that’d be making all the “Pow-wow Ka-pow Pow!”
This still confuses me as to why any American Indian would be celebrating a bunch of white guys stealing their land, but celebrate they did, and loudly.
The three days we were in Moclips, between the folks on the beach blasting fireworks and the nonstop blasts from the Res down the road, was worse than anything we ever experienced in Vancouver. Who knew Washington state goes to the coast on the 4th for fireworks crazed lunacy?
Duly noted for next year.
Poor little Zeke didn’t know what to make of this crazy vacation. Days of enduring a weird floor, a lousy bed, lousy food and nonstop boom-booms had him as sleepless and tweaked out as we were.
After we left and when we finally arrived home, I could tell Zeke was glad to be back. There were even a couple of firecrackers popping in the neighborhood, but Zeke remained unfazed on the couch, determined to get some rest and relaxation, finally.
Time to start planning for next year’s escape. Maybe a peaceful stay on a Himalayan mountain top?
Back to making comics next week.
Cheers,
Ed
Deb is a pretty girl.
Glad Deb didn't get hurt!!!! And poor Zeke... I empathize 💚💚💚💚