"Booty-Call, Protocol"

 

It's early Monday morning as I stroll out to my car a day after a most welcomed respite of doing little more than watching football, grilling outdoors, sipping on wine and dipping all ten toes in my friend's nice enclosed swimming pool.

I've got a four hour drive ahead of me before I get on down to Marathon and I've indulged long enough and there is no point in delaying the infamous "walk of shame".

Just about everybody at one point or another has walked the "walk of shame" but simply didn't know what to call it, but even fewer people will know that the first tenant of "booty-call, protocol" is that one never delays the "walk of shame".

I'll explain to the uninitiated... no matter how much one might have enjoyed the previous evening or prior day and no matter how much one would prefer to linger around a while longer sipping on coffee and what-not, one just has to get on with their morning and make sure that they are in full compliance with "booty-call, protocol".

It is pointless to fret about any neighbors noticing anything untowards going on because it's already too late to make a discrete getaway and they've long since stepped outside to pickup their morning paper and have long since figured out that there is a car in the drive-way across the street that hadn't been there before.

Never mind whether or not I slept on that hard mattress in the guest room the previous night or whether there is a set of bed-sheets that will need to be laundered later that day... the moment has arrived to walk the "walk of shame".

I say my goodbyes and walk that awkward "walk of shame"... fumble for my car keys, start the ignition and drive away.

Goodbye Marco Island... for better or worse, I'm now en route to Vaca Key to reunite myself with S/V Blondie-Dog bobbing on a mooring in Boot Key Harbor, Marathon.