The beach is a popular destination on holidays, including Memorial Day weekend.  In addition to remembering and thanking those who served this great country so that we could do things like write this fabulously funny blog a few times each week, people come to relax and unwind.  Those who were trapped in the cold weather until being released this past weekend do all sorts of crazy things when they see sand, sun, and salt water.  Hell, it’s been so long since some of them were in the warm sunshine that they don’t even have last year’s farmer’s tan. I’m not being derogatory towards farmers; I’m originally from the north so I know all about their tans, but what I didn’t know was about middle-aged male twirlers on the beach.

It was a hot, sunny morning and I forced myself to go for my daily walk. I’ve written about my walks before in posts such as The One-Upped Flamingo so feel free to look back for a refresher or an extra laugh.  Anyway, it was high tide, as opposed to out-Tide, and that meant a limited amount of space was available for both the flamingo and the sunbathers.  I had a clear shot between the row of umbrellas and the edge of the water with one exception. When I was about 100 yards out, I could see someone standing in the middle of my clear shot.  “Hmm,” I thought, “hopefully that non-farmer tanner is going to move out the way before I reach that section of beach otherwise I’m gonna have to walk on water.”  Oh, sorry, only one person could walk on water and it sure isn’t me.

Anyway, as I reached the 50-yard mark I saw him turn and look at me through his dark aviator sunglasses.  “Perfect,” I mumbled, “he sees me so he’ll be moving any time now.” But I was wrong.  He just stood there, in my clear shot, wearing his red, white, and blue flag-like shorts, twirling the bottom of a beach umbrella pole.  I don’t mean your basic twist and turn of a pole. I mean a full-on twirl, just like a majorette.

Now, I know that males can be majorettes so I’m not judging him for his skills, but it was funny that this 55+ year old man was standing there in old glory doing the horizontal twirl, a few figure 8s, a palm spin, and a thumb toss with an umbrella pole. As I write this list it brings back memories of one of my favorite funny movies, and no, I’m not talking about Dirty Dancing or Pretty Woman; I’m talking about Joe Dirtè. “Tell me you don’t have no whistlin’ bungholes, no spleen splitters, whisker biscuits, honkey lighters, hoosker doos, hoosker don’ts, cherry bombs, nipsy daisers, with or without the scooter stick, or one single whistlin’ kitty chaser?” Well, I wasn’t buying fireworks for this holiday but the names of the twirls sure are funny.

So, as I kept moving closer to the performance stage, I sensed he had no intention of stopping the twirl or moving to clear my shot. Ten yards, 5 yards, 2 yards, he kept a-twirlin.  “Goodness,” I pondered, “he must be a member of the United States Twirling Association because he is just going to town. I wonder if I’m gonna get doinked, and not the Urban Dictionary form of doink, on the head by this twirlin’ bunghole?”  And then, with 2 steps to spare, the twirling stopped. He just stood there on the sand looking straight out into the ocean while holding the umbrella baton with both hands.  I know, you wanna know if he resumed the twirl after I passed around him.  The truth is, I don’t know. That was one sort of crazy thing I didn’t need to see any more of on the beach on a holiday weekend.