My heart jumps—just a bit—- at seeing CheerGirl standing there, at the edge of my blanket, partially blocking my sun. Holding my hand over my eyes as a visor and squinting, I see her simply standing there, smirking, staring down at me.
“I know,” I offer, “It takes your brain a minute or so to begin to generate words…” Nothing. No retort, no snort,…..no movement.
I cautiously get to my feet, not wanting to fall victim to a cheap kick in the face, but she remains motionless. As I take a step closer, I realize why…
Really? A life-size, cardboard cutout? Jeez, how many trees had to die to make—-this? Ick! Scanning the beach, I see no one. Peering down, I note two sets of footprints in the sand, leading up to and away from the cutout.
Hrmpf! Nikki and Ewa, no doubt… ha, ha, girls…..
But, sensing my contact with the real CheerGirl may be limited—-or non-existent—- this round, I do what I can. Fishing into my bag, I retrieve my old faithful black Sharpie. After a few minutes, satisfied with the addition of John Lennon glasses, a Hitler mustache, cigar, tattoos, rivulets of drool dripping from the mouth, and horns, I pack up, hoisting the cutout under my arm, and head back to the FCF resort, to look for a prominent place in which to display my new work of art…
