An unlikely parting gift
The item I placed in the coffin of my best friend raised both eyebrows and smiles.
My father had agreed to pick us up from the airport. But when he saw what we were wearing, he walked away, desperate not to be seen with us. With the benefit of hindsight, I think he was probably right in doing so.
My best friend and I were returning after an unforgettable two-week holiday in Spain. For my friend, it was his first time traveling overseas on his own. For me, it was my first overseas trip, period.
We were 17 years old and we fully embraced the freedom afforded to us by the lax alcohol laws in Spain and by the distance from our parents.
Our chosen watering hole was called Beach Boys. In fact, we liked it so much that both of us seriously considered staying in Spain and working at the bar for the remainder of the summer.
The all-male staff of Beach Boys wore a uniform; a 1920s-style bathing suit in green and white stripes. As such regular patrons and would-be employees, we were awarded with a bathing suit of our own.
It was deeply unflattering even when I was a skinny teenager; and it grew less flattering with each passing year.
