I Dig the Pig AND Thank God There are no Women at The Masters Because the Finals are a Wet T-Shirt Contest Waiting to Happen – It’s Raining in Augusta

butt wipes

I’m on my annual pilgrimage to the Coligny Plaza Piggly Wiggly on Hilton Head Island.  Every year in April I spend a week, sometimes two, shopping for groceries, sun tan lotion, cheap wine, canned beer, Advil and butt wipe photos.  They don’t charge you for the latter so I take at least one every year and laugh out loud.

I’m here for my own variation of spring cleaning while Doc B stays at home and handles the real spring cleaning of the Atlanta pollen (and the cat box scooping and the dish washing and the trash collecting and the lawn mowing and the weed whacking and the hard wood floor swiffing and the coffee making and the….).  I figure by coming here every year, I make Doc B appreciate all the things I do around the house.  Oh wait, Doc B already appreciates all that I do, so why am I here?

I’m here out of habit.  I’ve been coming here for over 30 years – way more than half of my life.  The same condo, the same uncomfortable bed, the same 1980’s era furniture, the same gorgeous beach deck,

deck

the same happy dolphins, the same golf tournaments (The Masters and The Heritage) and, for the first few years, the same Family Circle Cup Women’s Tennis tournament.  How cool it was to run into Steffi Graf at the local video store or see Martina Navratilova and Billie Jean King up close and personal thanks to my parents getting us tickets to the early rounds.  I don’t know if mom and dad had the money for the finals but I didn’t care.  We got the best seats in the house to see the big names of the 80’s (Chris Evert, Andrea Jaeger, Zina Garrison, Gabriela Sabatini, Jennifer Capriati, Pam Shriver and Tracy Austin).

Week one here on the Island included my 70+ year old parents who, as usual, kept me running.  They are in such great shape and will be celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary later this year.  They drove 14 hours to get here and then walked the beach at least once, if not twice, every day.  They also did their own things.  Dad is committed to a home-town community issue that had his phone blowing up more than my work Blackberry while mom swam laps each day.  One day, she did 72 laps in honor of her upcoming 71st birthday (she did an extra lap for good measure).

Now that they’ve hit the road, I’m on my own for week two and all I can think about are habits.  My old habits here, my new habits here (including yoga), my habits at home, my habits at work and my habits in life in general.  I’m thinking it’s time to change a fuse, kind of like a reset button.  But before I test the fuse to see if it blows, I’m headed over to the Pig to get another bottle of Pinot Noir.  Stay tuned.

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One thought on “I Dig the Pig AND Thank God There are no Women at The Masters Because the Finals are a Wet T-Shirt Contest Waiting to Happen – It’s Raining in Augusta

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