Dump Me in the Water

This weekend featured the first tubing trip of the summer. True, mid-April doesn't really qualify as summer in most circles, but it was somewhat warm and I had a stunning chili cook-off victory to celebrate. To paraphrase one Dean Farnsworth Zyvarb, it was time to let the rivers run yellow with our beer and urine.

It occurs to me now that if I ever want to rid myself of a body or some toxic waste, I could just take it tubing down the river with me. Every tubing expedition invariably leads to a lost possession for me; these are the consequences of being drunk and mobile for several hours at a time. This time, it was my fancy flip flops. That didn't hurt as much as losing my Budweiser bucket hat (which I later saw for $70 on Ebay), but I have to emphasize just how fancy these flip flops were. They were Mexican tourist trap flip flops. I spent roughly $400 on these flip flops, and then managed to keep up with them for two years. I had selected them as the flip flops I'd be buried in. But if the river wants them, the river can have them; it's going to take a bigger loss than that to keep me off the water ways.

The water wasn't exactly temperate, but no one ever said that tubing in April was like square dancing with grandma. No, it takes some fortitude. You have to possess the tenacity to assault your nervous system with alcoholic beverage after alcoholic beverage. And then, once you've reached the bottom and proven yourself to all around you, you must summon the chutzpah to go it again. The only thing I can compare it to, and this is without any hyperbole whatsoever, is climbing Mount Everest. Naked. While being chased by the abominable snowman. If a pair of shoes happens to get lost in the midst of such a feat, so be it. At least I avoided frostbite.