[dropcap]J[/dropcap]amie and I sat in the seafood shack eating crab claws, looking out at the serene water. However, it was difficult to enjoy our platters of crab due to the tableful of small children behind us. They fussed and carried on, shouting over one another in frenzied voices.
Then, one of the children was seized by a sudden laughing fit. The child laughed so violently that his face turned as red as a Venus Eagle cherry, and he inevitably urinated on himself right there, in front of God and country.
Junior was removed, but later returned. He wasn’t wearing pants, but an improvised skirt– a dishtowel wrapped around his fish-stick and hush puppies. The boy’s newfound, dangling freedom energized him, and gave way to romantic behavior aimed toward my wife.
Jamie cackled with delight while he danced the high-kick in his loincloth for her, followed by an R-rated performance of the Cha Cha Slide. And Jamie applauded. He finished his routine by turning around, lifting the back of his terrycloth skirt upward, and shouting, “What do you think of this lady?”
Jamie swatted the boy’s plump hindquarters with a crab claw.
“Hey, what’d you do that for?” The boy rubbed his haunches.
“You’re in the South,” she pointed the crustacean leg at him. “You will refer to me as ma’am.”