I escaped death yesterday.
The day started out like any Destin day for the Schott family. Every day, we hit the beach, and … that’s it. We stay there all day. You can find me, sitting in a lawn chair in the sun, reading a book and growing tanner by the minute. I sit near the beach, so there’s usually a nice breeze, which means the sweating is kept to a minimum.
Yesterday, my 16-year-old brother Trevor, my boyfriend Andrew and my sister’s boyfriend Mitch decided they wanted to play volleyball. They needed a fourth person, so they could play two on two. Because I’m incredibly athletic and my stamina is out of this world, I was the chosen recruit.
I hesitantly agree and wander away from the breeze and over to the hot court. (Court = Volleyball net and sand around it.) We start hitting the ball around and debating how to divide the teams.
Then, before we even start, our fun game turns into a real game. Four strangers walk up, and my team accepts their offer to play a game.
Hold on a second; I didn’t sign up for this. Now this is no longer about having fun; it’s about winning. I do love to win, but when it comes to sports, let me be the first to tell you, I fall into the losers’ category.
We begin playing, and I quickly become proud of myself for at least partaking in such exercise. This is great; I’ll be down to a Size 4 in no time.
After hitting the ball a few times, however, I realize I am sweating profusely. I realize, too, that the heat makes it hard to breathe. I become slightly distracted from the game, feeling out of shape and scolding myself for all those times I almost went to the gym but didn’t.
Way to go, loser.
My team actually wins the game, which is exciting, yes, but not as exciting as the fact that the game is over and I can go sit down and breathe again.
Then, someone says simply, “Again?”
No, no, no, I think. We’re not playing again. We’re too exhausted. Right, guys?
“Yeah, we’ll play again.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
WHY DO YOU GUYS HATE ME?
So, I can’t leave them hanging; I’m quickly stuck playing again
I do tell them, however, that I have to get water first. I walk to our umbrellas, grab a water and then leisurely walk back over, drinking half of my water along the way. I discreetly pour the other half of my water all over myself. It blended right in with the sweat.
During this game, I only hit the ball when it comes directly to me, falling straight into my ready arms. If it falls one foot over, I let Mitch break his neck to get the ball.
We begin losing the second game, and eventually I’m hoping we do lose, because a comeback would take longer. I just want to go back to my chair on the shore and read my book. I want to sit down and not worry whether my next move will cause me to collapse and die.
The game ends, and someone – a voice of evil – says, “Best two out of three?”
I immediately tell my team that I will go find a replacement. I begin telling them that my cousin Heidi could play; she’s probably a secret volleyball star. It’ll take me one second to run and get her.
Of course, because they hate me, they reject this option. It’s only one more game, they tell me. Yeah, okay, only 15 more minutes of putting my life on the line for the sake of your entertainment. That sounds great.
God knows why, I agree to continue.
My participation in this last game consisted mainly of my dramatic announcements of being on the verge of death. I really didn’t touch the ball. I flailed my arms in its general direction, when it came near me, but overall I did a pretty good job of not moving. We did lose the game, and I guess it may have been my fault. Although, it may have still been my fault had we played in a nice cool air-conditioned gym, so, there’s no telling.
After recovering from this tragic afternoon, I read more of my book, while appreciating the breeze more than ever. I feel accomplished from my brief moment of physical activity earlier, but I feel at home again, in my stationary chair on the beach.
For dinner, we ate at the Laizers’ condo. The Laizers are family friends, and the Laizer mother is a movie star.
Actually, not quite, but she’s on her way. She has been landing larger and larger roles as an extra. In her latest film, “Revenge of the Bridesmaids,” she played the mother of the groom. Her face flickered on the screen many times. She was front and center in one group scene, throwing rice at the bride and groom and looking very proud and giddy for her newlywed son.
Mrs. Rhonda even played her new movie for us during dinner. I found it pretty cool; all the dads and uncles in the room did not. Halfway through the movie, Uncle Kevin jokes, “Wait a minute; is this a chick flick?” And Uncle Steve: “Oh, now I want to read this book.”
In one scene, the bridesmaids kidnap the bride, and as they do, the bride’s shoe falls off. The camera then shows us her lone shoe, left behind, with nothing but the floor around it. For a dramatic moment, the shoe is center stage, with nothing else in view to distract us from this important moment.
Uncle Steve, with exaggerated interest in the movie says, “Oh, that’s a clue. Remember that guys – I think that’s a clue.”
After dinner, we played what we call Team Charades. This insane game is a blog post in itself, so I’ll save that for later. Be prepared; it’s going to be good.
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