All My Bags Are Packed, I'm Ready To Go

We're heading off to the beach today, and being the classy couple that we are, our beach of choice is Myrtle. But there's a good reason for that. We're cheap bastards. Or at least I am. Ron always starts out pushing for Sandestin or Wild Dunes. At first, I'm all, oooh that sounds nice, but after a while, I start to balk. Because when it gets right down to it, I can't stand the thoughts of paying well over a hundred dollars apiece for every round of golf. I just can't do it. My golf game is more like a thirty dollar round, but, okay, I know those probably don't exist. So, I'd like to at least keep it reasonable. And the courses at Myrtle are, for the most part, very nice and very reasonable. So I start out pretending to go along with the idea of other places, but then I s-l-o-w-l-y wear him down. Finally, he just wants to book something, so he gives up. Once we have a condo squared away, then he starts picking out the golf courses he wants to play, and he's fine, because there are some great courses there, like Possum Trot and Pine Lakes and Man-O-War. And we'll eat buckets of shrimp and oysters at Dirty Don's, work our way through great big nasty chili-cheeseburgers at Duck's, and we'll drink cold beer, shoot pool and listen to old beach music at Fat Harold's. 'Cause that's how we roll.
And I'll see ya back here next week.