We spent the weekend at Fidalgo Bay RV Resort, one of those four paw establishments that dot the Pacific Northwest.
The featured attraction on this weekend was the club that Mom and Dad belong to – called the “San Juanderers”. There are all sorts of interesting things about this club. For instance, did you know that your rig must meet stringent color palette requirements to be considered for membership?
Fidalgo Bay RV Resort is the kind of place where a corgi can really get something done.
There were several featured events. I wasn’t invited to any of them.
Early Saturday afternoon, the group bowled. “Kegeling”, I believe, is the name it has been given by the kids who define twenty-first century cultural norms. Nonetheless, I wasn’t included. These omissions burn at my soul, and tear at my heart.
I sat out in the parking lot while young and old alike enjoyed themselves.
Later that evening, insult was added to injury (assuming that I was injured while sitting in a car for more than two hours while Mom and Dad bowled, and I wasn’t technically injured in the traditional sense, but it makes for a good narrative, so please come along for the ride) when the assembled multitude decided to feast on hot, popped corn and Milk Duds while watching the theatrical release of “What About Bob?”.
Meanwhile, I sat in the RV, wondering, “What About Bert?”
What about Bert?
This is supposed to be “my time”. Isn’t that what retirement is all about? That’s what the mass media tells us retirement is about. That, of course, and reverse mortgages.
I wish I could say that I endorsed this weekend. But I cannot do that. Not when I spent countless hours locked in a three-hundred square foot traveling three-dimensional rectangle, lying on a cold, pre-fabricated floor lamenting my exclusion from the events of the day.
Other than that, it was a delightful weekend!