A Pirate's Booty

A long drive is not so long with the laughter of friends. We arrived at Virginia Beach expecting adventure. We added some cute shoes, sprayed a little perfume and giggled across the street toward the sound of a live band. The band sounded way better then they looked and jammed out some great tunes. We laughed over the juvenile bartender who retreated to the back room seemingly checking The Bartender’s Guide for cranberry & vodka and margarita recipes. He returned with our drinks; including my white russian, which he apparently thought would no longer be white if he added kahlua. With an adorable smile, he remedied the drinks and was sure the next round packed a punch. The laughter continued as we discussed life, love and the differences between corn hole and cornholio. Four grown women giggling over simple statements and wondering if fifty would bring us the interesting perspectives we saw on the other side of the bar.

A few passerbys caught our eye stumbling in the alley. We finished our drinks and exited stage left. The sound of the rushing ocean was more distracting than the crowd and we ran across the boardwalk. The thought of sand in my peep toe boots stopped me short but we felt the wind and tasted the salt in the air before we entered the Tap House. This band was just as rockin’ and the crowd was much bigger. We found a table and ordered another round.

It wasn’t long before we became those old women we laughed at in our youth, dancing in front of the band… “You don't have 2 be cool to rule my world, ain't no particular sign I'm more compatible with, I just want your extra time and your [insert air drum and air guitar riff] KISS.”  One of us must not have been too bad, because it wasn’t long after we sat down to the left a young boy appeared, wrong table young man… no Mrs. Robinson here, but thanks. We chatted with the shy guy who turned out to look in many directions at the same time, possibly due to his “hidden booty” of jello shots and the beer on the table, but he was a plunge expert and pretty amusing to me. While the bar stool across the room seemed to hold the man in the plaid shirt balanced in place with a magnetic attraction, the scene across the table was that of magnets repelling. The shy guy had become known as Pirate Dave and his friend was just creepy. It became time to go, Pirate Dave said he would have booty to share and a wee mermaid on his shoulder at the plunge, “ARRRRRRGH.” Our laughter echoed in the ally and we cried in hysterics as we navigated the crosswalk. Four women, two bars, two bands, a few thousand laughs, and the adventures have just begun.