Frank Cho, �Liberty Meadows: Eden � Book 1�
This is part eleven of a 25-part story about Hawaii. The story begins here. Part five is located here. Part ten is here. Other parts you'll have to find yourself. So there.
---
After wasting an entire day, you would think we had healed.
You would be wrong.
But we also have cabin fever, or bungalow fever in our case. So we shuffle slowly out to the car and climb carefully inside.
I was convinced that the car wouldn�t start before because we hadn�t drunk anything previously before we got inside. We hadn�t had anything to drink now. I turned the key. The engine turned over, but wouldn�t catch.
The Girlfriend punched the dashboard, and the engine roared into life again.
Okay, perhaps it wasn�t the beer. Perhaps our beat-up old car looks the way it does because it�s actually a masochist. I christen the car �Wife Beater,� but that doesn�t quite fit � after all, it�s taking the punches, not dishing them out.
Driven to near insanity by being surrounded by the sounds of chickens, Wheel of Fortune and old people who talk entirely too loud, and unwilling to try and make our limited cooking apparel fit the logistics of actually making anything, we drive, looking for things that look interesting.
One thing I�ve been harping on about before we even bought our tickets to come here was how she needed to try Hawaiian Shave Ice. I tried to explain what it was, talking about the how they poured syrup over ice in a bunch of flavors.
�So,� she said, looking at me evenly, �it�s a snow cone.�
�No, goddamn it, if it was a snow cone I�d say it was a snow cone. This is much better than any kind of fucking snow cone you�ve ever had.�
I don�t know why I feel I can say this, as I haven�t had a goddamn snow cone since I was eight years old.
By chance, we happen upon a stand selling Shave Ice. As it turns out, it happens to be the place that gets voted as the best Shave Ice on Kaua�i year after year. They deserve it.
We also remembered seeing a brewery further down the road when we drove to the hiking spot. We think about brewery tours culminating with free samples. As it turns out, when we get there, they inform us that their brewery equipment all broke down, and they don�t have tours in the first place.
They do have beer, mind you, it�s just not Kaua�i beer. That�s okay, we�re not from here anyway.
Four pints and a plate of shrimp (hip insider reference!) later, we�re stumbling back to the car. Our small table is cramping both of us up again. We look at each other, and neither of us have to say anything � it�s time to go back home and go to sleep.
Hell, we�re going out on a boat tomorrow. We can waste one more day.
But as we are going on a boat, The Girlfriend needs a swimsuit. Having slightly burned from our one snorkeling expedition, her skin is browning and she�s quite entranced with the change in pigment. Also, she only has a one-piece bathing suit, and I desperately want to see her in as little clothes as possible. It�s time to go shopping!
And okay, I admit it, I�m a pig and I know nothing about the art or appeal of shopping for clothes. My mode of operation is as follows. If I like the band I just saw on stage, and their shirts are under ten bucks, I buy one. Socks: CostCo. Boxers: the more ridiculous the pattern, the better. Everything else comes from thrift stores, and when I shop there, there are only two pieces of criteria. The first is, does it fit? The second, only comes into play if the first one isn�t true, and then the rule is, does it almost fit?
So imagine my shock and horror upon seeing how much these fucking bathing suits cost! I know I sound like a stereotypical foreigner here, but why do they charge so much for so little? I can�t seem to keep my mouth from hanging open as I look at the prices. Then The Girlfriend models the first bikini for me.
And since my mouth is already hanging open, I can�t do anything to stop the drool that slides off my lower lip.
Cost is no longer an issue. Thank Christ for credit cards.
At home, I get back into the tub and read. Cho is an amazing artist, and sometimes he�s quite funny. I�m not sure I appreciate that he named the alcoholic, womanizing, and chain smoking pig Dean.
Actually, I take that back. I�m quite happy he did that.
