The real deal

The trip south looks lovely in photos but in real life the beauty of the driftwood and the shiny happy cousins was being eclipsed periodically by a wretched smell. A seafood resaurant dumpster smell that had us crawling around sniffing the floor like basset hounds, washing trash cans, going to laundry mats and forcing preteens to reapply deodorant against their will. The smell was transient, mysterious and most unpleasant. The smell was WINNING until today. Today I found an oyster in Finn’s highly mobile backpack. It was alive when he found it on the beach in its lovely, purple, great for a souvenir shell, apparently. It is not alive anymore. It is dead, very, very dead. OMG. 

   

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