“Mystery of the Sandy Sunglasses”
The broken evidence washed in on high tide on a gray and chilly morning of February 2015, landing itself on Mustang Island, Texas.
As if I were a clairvoyant or paranormal medium, a vision formed in my mind of a tipsy, bikini-wearing underage Spring Breaker from the late 80s, sporting stiff big hair stiff thanks to half a can of hairspray, and feeling very sexy with her brand new sunglasses.
Impaired by the empty bottle of Boone’s Hill Strawberry Farm next to her hot pink and white beach towel, she pranced out into the water to frolic. Her goal? Attempting, in vain, to get the attention of the obnoxious college dudes taking turns chugging cheap alcohol from a crude beer bong.
Distracted by her own loud, attention-seeking squeals of fun, a wave hit her from behind, sending her face first into the foamy salt water. She emerged, gasping for air and trying to reposition her cool sunglasses back on her face. She was coughing gritty seawater out of her lungs when another wave smacked the in the back, knocking her off her feet.
She groped around in the water for the sunglasses, but they were gone.
Whoops of laughter and concerned calls from her friends could be heard coming from the shoreline, but darn it if those weren’t her favorite pair! She like totally spent $12 on them!
So, since her hair was now ruined and her buzz long gone no thanks to the dunk in the Texas Gulf, she braved the battery of on-coming waves to fish blindly and determinedly with her hands and legs for her sunglasses.
After many unsuccessful tries, she decided she reasonably decided what she needed now was a hot shower, some Funions, a nap, then rack up daddy’s credit card at Pat Magee’s Surf Shop. Maybe she might even find a new pair of sunglasses.
(c) Amy Oakley, 1027 Productions