A Day at the Cement Pond

Last weekend, the family and I were having an amazing time at the lake.

The boy was being excellent, the weather cooperated, we got to get out on our boat, the girl had a good time making memories with all of her little lake friends, we ate awesome food, and we wanted to end the perfect Saturday by going to the pool overlooking the marina and beautiful Kentucky Lake.

Significant Other and I were relaxing in the loungers, the hot June sun beaming down on us. The boy was playing quietly in the kiddie pool with his toys, the girl was showing us her mad "Look! I'm not holding my nose!" skills, and all was right with the world.

Insert record scratch sound....here.

Enter Holly and Robbie.

I've never seen Holly and Robbie in my life, yet I knew their names because they were screaming back and forth to each other as soon as the gate surrounding the pool slammed behind them. However, Holly and Robbie didn't pronounce their names the way that I, or any other person on God's green Earth, Mercury, or Jupiter pronounce their names. Holly and Robbie had such thick, slow southern drawls that their mouths formed their names as "Hawley" and "Rahbee".

Say it with me now. Hawwwwleeee and Rahhhhhbeeeee.

God bless Hawley. She was in her late twenties, long dark hair, the bottom two feet of her mane consisting of more dead ends than a corn maze. She wore an American flag bikini (I'm sure a forefather was turning in his grave somewhere), a purple belly ring that looked heavier than lead with charms hanging from it, and her pack of Marlboro Reds was tucked loosely between her almost non-existent breasts.

Hawley was pissed at Rahbee. Rahbee forgot the baby's little swimmers. Rahbee left her favorite Ed Hardy lighter in their tent. Rahbee was a dumb son of a bitch that couldn't seem to do anything right.

Every time Hawley called Rahbee's name, which was a lot, I thought of a bee in a cheer leading uniform. Rahhh Bee!!!

I think Rahbee really was a dumb son of a bitch, bless his heart. He wore an old Nike hat in the pool, and yes, he went under water with it on. He also had purple nipple rings that matched Hawley's belly button charms, Budweiser swim trunks (of course), and he was covered in the shittiest tattoos I had ever seen. They all looked like they had been done on the "inside" by a burly gang member named Heat, who made his own tattooing device out of some old batteries, a vibrator and a Bic pen.

Hawley and Rahbee had 3 kids with them. I am pretty sure that they only shared the baby, sans his little swimmers, and the tallest kid appeared to be older than both Hawley and Rahbee. I don't know if it's possible to have children before you are actually born, but if so, that would explain a lot.

I do not think I am superior to anyone. Please understand this before I proceed with this story. Growing up in the south, I am often exposed to "rednecks", and many of them are good, honest, hardworking, educated people that are wonderful and loyal friends. However, Hawley and Rahbee were just ignorant ass loud mouths that totally pissed on my pool day.

The resort pool is open to anyone in the campground, whether you have a million dollar waterfront home, a cabin, a camper, or even a tent.

Let's just say that one of the million dollar waterfront home ladies happened to be in a lounger next to Hawley and Rahbee. Let's also just say that she wasn't there long after they made their appearance. Why? Well, here's why.

The pool was full of people that day, yet Hawley and Rahbee acted as if they were there alone. They loudly yelled at each other back and forth across the pool, she walked around smoking her Reds and loudly talking on the phone to "Bawnee" about a fight at a bar last night, Hawley climbed on Rahbee's shoulders' in the water, and he put his hands on her ass while they splashed more than a convulsing whale doing the electric slide.

At one point, Rahbee screamed from the deep end, over at least 10 people's heads, to Hawley way down in the shallow end, "Hey, Hawley! I can barely touch down here!"

To which Hawley screamed from the shallow end, over at least 10 people's heads, to Rahbee way down in the deep end, "Your ass better start swimmin'!"

Later, they were arguing over who drank the last beer that morning (yes, morning) and who used all of the toilet paper on Thursday. Considering it was Saturday, I was concerned that no one in Hawley and Rahbee's party had wiped their ass in two days.  

When one of Hawley's kids was running around the pool, Hawley came un-effing-glued.

"Jawnee! Get your ass over here, and walk slow, Jawnee!"

Poor Johnny, ahem, Jawnee, with his braided rat tail hanging past his little 5 year old shoulders, his Kool-Aid stain still fresh around his lips, his temporary knife and skull tattoo on his stomach, and his WWE Raw swim trunks awkwardly stuck up his ass, hanged his head low as he walked over to his loud mother.

"Now, listen here, Jawnee. Did you see your cousin's nose this morning?"
"Yes, Mama."
"Do you remember all that blood everywhere in the tent?"
"Yes, Mama."
"Do you remember that he fell running around this here pool this morning and that's how he busted his nose?"
"Yes, Mama."
"You better not run around this here pool again, youse hear me, Jawnee?"
"Yes, Mama."

And Jawnee ran back to the pool. Yeah, I said ran.

And Rahbee came un-effing-glued.

"Jawnee! Boy, what your mama just say? Huh? What she just say?"
"She say not to run around this here pool."
"Damn right, that's what she said, and what you just do?"
"I ran around this here pool."
"Boy, I will tear youse a new asshole you run around this here pool again, you hear me?"
"Yes, Rahbee."

I don't know if it is appropriate to tell a kid you're going to tear them a new asshole, but it seemed to work since Jawnee walked his little wrestling trunks back to the pool. Slowly.  

I swear to you it was as if I had stepped into the dueling banjo scene from "Deliverance."  I am not exaggerating. These were the most backwoods people I've ever come in contact with in my life.

Trust me, growing up in the south, I've been around plenty of backwoods people. Just never any this loud. In American flag bathing suits. With purple nipple rings. At the pool. On Saturday. 

As I glanced over at Significant Other, I noticed him trying to hide his laughter by covering his face with our daughter's Little Mermaid beach towel. Something about a guy named Rahbee in a dripping wet Nike hat, telling his step-kid he will tear him a new asshole, all the while keeping his cigarette between his lips, makes Hubs laugh.  

A nice looking older woman in a sarong and a huge Kentucky Derby-like hat passed by me and said quietly,  "Did you get that? NO running around the pool, you understand?"

I smiled kindly at her and said, "Yes, Mama."