a scavenger hunt of awkwardness

Apryl and I had a thoroughly full July 4th weekend, splitting time between my family and hers. On Friday, we woke up in a primitive shelter overlooking a waterfall in the Talladega National Forest. We were partially frozen, incredibly stiff, highly under-slept and — horror of horrors! — without caffeine!! Hiking out of the wilderness, I got us lost briefly (we’d hiked in the night before under cover of darkness, with no moon out, so in my defense nothing looked familiar…), but we soon found our way back out to the highway and continued onward to Georgia.

In Peachtree City, we picked up my cousins, aged 8 and 9, to mind them while my auntie went to some appointments and took them to an old mill pond for some swimming and splashing. Annie declined our invitation to join, saying that we needed the children to do a bit of safety testing before she could go to such a place. We stopped to buy junk food, cokes, and noodles for the weaker swimmers in the group. Apryl spent a great deal of time near the point of hyperventilation over the children’s proximity to a rocky precipice overlooking the pool. At a much-needed margarita dinner following this outing, Apryl beat up the 8-year-old and made her cry; my aunt stood by laughing.  Following the demolition of her little sister, Taylor was even more enamored of Apryl than before and clung to her legs begging us not to go.  It was with great regret [insert sardonic cackle here] that we relinquished the girls to the custody of their mother and went home to pass out in front of a movie.

Saturday, the THIRD of July, marked Peachtree City’s annual 4th of July celebration for, as we all know, the Lord’s day is no day for celebrating.  We went rollerskating around town (see Melanie go! go, Melanie go! Melanie go … BOOM!) before heading over to the lake for the fireworks extravaganza.  These truly are spectacular fireworks by any standards, and by virtue of relation we were (as always) welcome to sit in the prime seat in town for the show.  Given that this side of the family and their friends/business associates are quite caricatured, we set Apryl with the task of an outrageous scavenger hunt.  Though the actual sheet of paper was lost somewhere in the drunken mayhem that followed, some of her items included:

- count the flamboyant-yet-insisting-to-be-hetero metrosexuals

- find 10 awkward conversational pauses

- experience or observe an uncomfortable interrogation about your employment

- see at least one forced conversational pairing of two individuals whose only links are a shared foreign language and extreme discomfort at the situation

- overhear at least 5 inappropriate references to an individual’s weight/hair/surgical alterations

Needless to say, it was fun.

We continued the festivities and awkwardness on Sunday with a long drive to the Elk River, where we met most of Apryl’s mom’s side of the family and water-skied, then another long drive back to Birmingham, where we arrived just in time to see fireworks shot off Vulcan.  That’s right, folks: Alabama is more progressive than Georgia, insofar as permitting public celebrations to occur on a Sunday if the calendar so dictates.  Aaaaaaand, they sell beer on Sundays and fireworks everyday.  What do you think of that, Georgia?

m.