I indulged my inner anthropologist over the weekend. It’s that time of year where we share our little southeastern shore of Clear Lake with—how shall I put this delicately?—morons. Wahoo! (This paroxysm of joy must be shouted to apprise everyone within 300 yards that the exclaimer is having a rapturous time.)
Memorial Weekend kicked off summer and that means wakeboarders, jet-skiers (aka dirt bikes on water), and water-skiers. With gas hovering near $4 a gallon here, where do people find the green? I guess if you can get the credit to buy a $12K jet ski, you can use credit to buy the gas. All must bring with them their soundtracks complete with sufficient bass to crumble concrete.
The squeals (presumably of delight) began Friday afternoon. One girl sunbathed on the dock. Four other equally pubescent girls frolicked on a six-person raft. One jumped up and down. “Oh yes! Yeah! Yeah!” she yelled. Her significant breasts bounced in counterpoint with little visible support. None of the bikinis contained enough fabric to make a useful handkerchief.
Now unattached cute little things don’t stay unnoticed for long. Aforementioned cuties send forth pheromones to lure males from the vicinity. I looked up from my chores when I heard the deep-throated thrub-dub of a ski boat idling. Four young males of the species initiated mating calls to the females, “Joo-see!”
A nubile female in a red bikini bent and displayed her rear to the males, gyrated her hips, then swiveled her head to look at them. “Uh huh,” she affirmatively responded to their ebullient mating chants, “JOO-see.”
By midmorning on Saturday, there were three boats and two jet skis tied up at the dock. Pubescent males swarmed around females like bees around a hive; 100-watt sound systems amplified the buzzing.
The mating frenzy culminated mid-afternoon. Two jet skis and three boats revved supercharged engines and roared off into deep water, one girl using her bikini top as a flag to wave around her head.
Ahh. Quiet again. Woohoo.
Nullius in Verba 
Norm,
If you are going to devote an entire entry to curmugeonly reminiscences about well endowed young ladies wiggling their bottoms and decorating the atmosphere instead of their bosoms with their bikini top I am sure you will agree that the accompanying illustration(s) should be, well, illustrative of the events described. I’ve not as vivid an imagination as I once had and, as marvelous as your powers of description are, I good, clear shot of the proceedings would have made all the difference.
Wahoo!
Alan
Take pictures! Why didn’t I think of that?