you are like wet sand in my underwear

I love that line from White Men Can't Jump. So funny, descriptive and disturbing. Speaking of sand ... I spent much of the long weekend in the Hamptons. Because I'm a lady of leisure and high status. I attend society teas. Kiss Kiss, Hug Hug. I felt like a debutante. And then I remembered. I am more aunty than debutante. I am a debut-aunty.

The Hamptons came about because our very good family friends have a beautiful beach house. They graciously offered to let us stay there for the weekend as they were out of town. The first night, I headed out to the beach with my brother and two of my very best friends. My parents joined for the rest of the weekend.

Necessary components of any vacation where I can actually relax:

• Good peeps (check)
• Ice cream (check, check. Nestle Crunch Bars and Edy's Dibs. Woohee!)
• TV (half a check. A gorgeous plasma screen TV in the house. No cable)
• Shower optional (check)
• Good music (check. JV brought along some great CDs. Who doesn't love Hip-Hop with breakfast?)
• A visit to Costco (check. With the family on the way back from the Hamptons.)

All systems Go. Great vacation! We cooked on Friday. I helped. I swear! Look, here is proof, along with some other visual aids from the trip:

*~*~*

My parents informed me that they had received a phone call "inquiring" about me. A woman who used to live in NY was hoping to find a bride for a young male member of her family. I don't know how or why, but my name was suggested. The woman asked my Dad if I was dating anyone (good idea, ask the person least likely to know). My dad then informed her that I had changed careers and was planning on attending medical school.

The woman responded: "Oh, just starting medical school? That won't work. We are looking for something more immediate."

Whoa. There is almost too much to process. First of all, the idea that I was tossed up as marriage material both flatters and frightens me. More the latter, because as much as I lament my single status, the idea of marriage still freaks me out. Secondly, something more immediate? What were you hoping for? Ramen Noodles? A TV dinner? Wow. But then secretly, I feared: Does going to med school make me a bad wife candidate? Not only can I not cook, now my choice of career is sabotaging me. This whole situation. Very much wet sand in my underwear. My granny, comfortable underwear. Which I forgot to mention is another necessary component of a good vacation.

After reflecting on the "interest" and letting it rattle me somewhat, I regained my good old obstinate nature. My life comes first. My career choice rocks and ain't nobody gonna make me feel otherwise. And do some research before you call and inquire about my "marriagable status." Because I'm kinda crazy. And I like it that way.