I need to take a break from writing real writing, and I just want to update my blog and spend no more than .0001 seconds crafting each word or sentence.
JUST LOOK. AT MY. COOLER. It’s so beautiful, it’s almost sexual.
My wife gave me this cooler to celebrate Father’s Day. It was between this or a DNA test for the dog. Yes, I would have been equally as thrilled with learning my dog’s genetic ancestry. I’ve always secretly suspected she’s part llasa apso, and one day, one glorious day, I will know for absolute certain.
This cooler was a 90s staple, and they recently brought sexy back with this retro reissue. Yes, even coolers get retro re-releases. It was seventy fucking dollars. Keep your comments about end stage capitalism to yourself and let me enjoy one stupid thing in my stupid life.
We took it to the beach, where I daydreamed I’d pack all the awesomeness inside of it, like watery beers and sammiches and loads and loads of ice, so that I could demonstrate my feats of brawn and muscle, golden-toned, carrying my beautiful teal encasement across the sands.
But instead, we packed water bottles and squeeze packet apple sauces for the kids, and then spent our entire time making sure they didn’t kill themselves in the ocean. The rest of the summer, it has sat in my garage, where I take time out of each day to make uncomfortable eye contact with it and whisper “soon.”
Then, at the thrift store a few weeks ago, I found its sorta-matching thermos cousin. I paid only five bucks, but it’s worth at least twenty-five. Now they sit together in my garage, and they represent a perpetual magical beach summer sexual fantasy of pink and yellow and teal.
Alright, back to real sentences.