a long post about my weekend as a yuppie

i'm about to tell you that i went on a day trip to a little island off the coast of Connecticut. well, it's really part of New York, but whatever. but before i tell you this story, you must know that taking day trips on an airplane to ritzy islands does not make me a yuppie. i assure you. in fact, the details of my story will likely reassure you if you don't believe me.

so, yes. my friend Jon can fly planes so he invited me to see Fisher's Island with him. i was totally nervous about being in one of those little tiny planes (even smaller than the ones you may affectionately refer to as "puddle jumpers"), but it was a trip to the beach--on an island--and we were flying there. of course i'm coming!



while he flew, i took up some light reading.



once we landed, i took loads of pictures, but pictures can be boring unless they have people in them. so, my story is going to be about the people we encountered on this ritzy island. the island that has only two (i'm not exaggerating) fucking public restrooms from end to end. that's 7 miles.

in fact, the absence of restrooms was certain to be my demise as we walked to the "town" from the airport--whose bathrooms were unfortunately out of commission. there was even a sign directing me around back with cruel lack of compassion.

when we got to town, an area of the island that was host to the place's only cafe, i was met with more of the same. "No public restrooms! Sorry!" yeah, sorry my ass. whatever, i was hardcore, right? we went inside and got something to drink. regardless of my bladder situation, i was thirsty. we had been walking in the heat on an island in the sun. replenishing our liquids was essential. so, i ordered an iced coffee.

we grab our drinks from the foreign girls working the counter and sit outside to rest up before our long hike back. this is where i met the first group of people of this little story. there were about four or five of them and they were all dressed head-to-toe from J Crew's mid-summer catalogue. seersucker shorts with purple polo shirts and dragonfly flip-flops. or the summer-weight capris with the oxford style shell and ballet flats. at first i commended their style. but then i heard them speak. having sat outside in the midst of their conversation, Jon and I only heard the punchline.

"the strongest force in the world is COMPOUND INTEREST!"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! she said COMPOUND INTEREST! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"yes! it may run a CLOSE second to gravity, but that's it!"

more laughter.

ok. maybe i'm just ornery because i have had to pee for about two hours and i'm now drinking more coffee to test fate, but i could not find a single way for that dialogue to be amusing. i even spent a few moments thinking of the way the joke could have began. was someone hospitalized with compound interest vertigo? had their crony recently been urged to marry based on this threat of compound interest? was their plane delayed en route to Fiji because of the strong compound interest stream?

it didn't make sense. this was not funny and these people were some rare island species that i had been certain only existed in comedy sitcoms.



after snapping their photo, the one in the purple asked me (i'm sure with condesention) if i'd like him to take Jon and I's picture. "oh, no thanks." i'll just put you on the internet and make fun of you instead.

we walked over to the post office to see if they had a restroom. the lady smiled and said that there were only two on the island. one at the yacht club and one at the ferry. i wanted to burst in and proclaim i'd simply use hers, but she was old and nice, so i just said "ok", smiled weakly, and started back toward the airport hoping to find the ferry.

well, we did find the ferry and i peed. and i took more pictures and saw a jelly fish and made fun of the island people some more when i came across the fifth one of these signs:



now it was beach time. ahhhh.

we went to the beach and i took craploads of pictures of the water and pretty rocks that looked like sunbathing seals. then a little doggie came to visit us. Jon went off to find some revolutionary war bunkers he'd read about and i trekked down the beach with my new friend, the dog.

the dog sniffed out the few sunbathers as we walked, and one couple were not happy with the doggie's visit. in fact, the man of the couple rolled up his magazine and tried to hit the dog! so i took their picture:



please make fun of the fat man to yourselves.

i found some smelly things and took more pictures and then met back up with Jon, who claimed to have stumbled upon the lady from the postoffice--sunbathing topless. so, i promptly put my shoes back on and off we went to find her.

sure enough, i saw her postoffice vehicle parked at the edge of the island.



while Jon described her rockin bod, i reminded him that she was at least forty years old. then i told him that he should have asked her for her digits. apparently Jon has yet to master the art of aking topless women for their phone number. instead, i took some tasteful photos of her--for his sake, of course.

i'm sure the other people, including the fishermen and boaters, had prime viewing real estate. but i'd had enough, so we marched back to our spot near the dog.

i read Jon the Jennifer Anniston interview from Vanity Fair, and we packed up our stuff and headed back home.

on our tiny-ass airplane. (and YES! they do have keys!)