Once upon a time there were two women without coin, but with a hankering to see Texas. They decided that if they drove, ate peanut butter along the way, and camped on Mustang Island they could still have quite the adventure.
However, they forgot their tent. Their plans were further shattered by an unkind and somewhat relentless wind. The hundreds upon hundreds of Portuguese Men of War swimming lazily in the Gulf and which lie dead upon the beach decried Texas hospitality.
After two nights they decided this wasn't quite the adventure they were seeking. Something must be done, but what? Assuming they might think more clearly without the wind continually whipping their hair into their faces, they headed into a Corpus Christi drinking establishment, the name of which has long since been forgotten.
And that is when I, as one of the women in this story, bumped, literally, into Suzanne Trotter. The woman with perpetual lotion in her motion.
Fast friends within minutes (our birthdays are only days apart), it was decided that not only would we spend the night with her, we would all arise early the next day and drive to Matamoros, Mexico.
However, they forgot their tent. Their plans were further shattered by an unkind and somewhat relentless wind. The hundreds upon hundreds of Portuguese Men of War swimming lazily in the Gulf and which lie dead upon the beach decried Texas hospitality.
After two nights they decided this wasn't quite the adventure they were seeking. Something must be done, but what? Assuming they might think more clearly without the wind continually whipping their hair into their faces, they headed into a Corpus Christi drinking establishment, the name of which has long since been forgotten.
And that is when I, as one of the women in this story, bumped, literally, into Suzanne Trotter. The woman with perpetual lotion in her motion.
Fast friends within minutes (our birthdays are only days apart), it was decided that not only would we spend the night with her, we would all arise early the next day and drive to Matamoros, Mexico.
Now, we were too young to have really embraced the 60's yet not so far removed from it that certain adventures were foreign to us. Suffice to say that Blanca White's might still remember us.
And that my friends, is not the rest of the story.
How's that for a cliff hanger?
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