Against our better judgement, we spent last weekend in Panama City, FL. with SbB Girl Cecilia.
(Take a guess what the highlight of the trip was)
We’d never attended one of the obligatory Spring Break debauche-offs, but since we’re in a Florida for a patch, we gave it a shot.
First two days we’re rougher than Dennis Felton’s voice late last night. Sunday, the weather cleared, and we actually confirmed inhabitants among the beer can-strewn dunes of the Florida panhandle.
(What we now think of when the Army comes to mind)
We wish we could say it was a great experience, especially after the nine-hour drive from South Beach (we refuse to get on turboprop for at least another week).
We can’t. Not after reaching our yearly quota of 100 beached (very) Big 10 coed sightings in about 25 minutes on Sunday afternoon.
(Pink bikini in no way reason for photo selection)
We’ll be back later today for our thoughts on our Georgia Bulldogs and other topics of varying import. Not including our first ever ingestion of state-road-shouldered boiled peanuts yesterday, and subsequent multiple visits to Florida’s spotlessly clean interstate rest areas over the next six hours.