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in my mind i'm going to carolina 
how reality sideswiped a thousand miles of expectation
by Megan Thome
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continued from page 2

Well, I guess we did see Steppenwolf, George Jones, and the taping of Speedvision’s Trackside. Then there was a point of interest in Myrtle Beach. Aside from the Branson-on-the-beach atmosphere and the biker convention, there was a man sprawled out in a beach chair on the sand. He was so sprawled-out that his unmentionable was hanging out of his shorts pretending to be a sea creature washed ashore. I didn’t notice this until it was too late. I already had it recorded on my video camera.

rule 6 Calories, fat grams, cellulite, flab, fine lines, bad hair, workout regimes, inadequate boobs, blemishes, spider veins, bloating and thighs do not exist; therefore, no complaints about them are allowed.

reality 6 Yeah, right. What happens when three women put on swimsuits? Thighs suddenly induce nauseating remorse over the occasional Krispy Kreme or dollop of chive dip. Underarms morph into cruel, flapping flotation devices from another planet. Teeth somehow get crooked, butts inadvertently swell and breasts either slide into armpits or reunite with their long lost cousin, the flabdomen.  Funny thing is that ten years from now we’ll look at these pictures and marvel at how great we looked.

rule 7 While sharing our charm with the masses is indeed our objective, men with mullets, with funky teeth, wearing tank tops or with gun racks in their trucks are to be avoided at all costs. No participant of this trip is to be left alone with a strange man no matter how strange she is herself.

reality 7 You’d think we’d revel at the chance to be chirpies at every local bar along the way. Sad thing is, no one, not one set of XY chromosomes even caught our attention (except for the firemen.) This was a girls’ road trip, and we meant it.  

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