Living the Life Jimmy Buffett writes about

"You're not really a Beach Bum," Sarah says.

"Oh yeah," I ask ... standing halfway in and halfway out of the house at the sliding glass doors wearing only a wrap because her girls are home.

"Yeah, you don't a have tattoo and refuse to get one. You took your ear ring out. Plus you're way too connected!"

"Hmmm," I say ignoring her definition and meandering outside to the Beloved Back Deck, taking my seat at the table under an Umbrella beside a Palm Tree with an oyster face, wearing a red coconut bra and a green grass skirt.

My lap top is streaming Jim Morris music, the sun dances on the lush green Sub-Tropical leaves, orange blooms on Hibiscus plants and Geckos scurry across the railing.

I glance back inside where she's still standing doing something over the sink.

God I've got a good looking wife!

She's not wearing much either and I find it hard to concentrate ... well actually its not ... I'm just concentrating on her ass and not much else.

Sarah's taking the older girls to volunteer at "Surfers for Autism" and I've been ordered to stay here and babysit the Little Lingenfelter ... which I am perfectly cool with ... largely because she's still asleep ... and I'm really enjoying my life.

"I'm living the life Jimmy Buffett only wrote about," streams from the lap top ... and the line gives me pause.

"Hell Yeah!" I say to Sarah's ass ... which is magnificently walking out of the kitchen to tend to something else.

I wonder how she claims I'm not a Beach Bum?

My clothing is optional.

I shower, work, meander and tan outside.

I prefer to eat in bars.

I love live music ... mostly as an aficionado ... but also as an occasional instigator.

I wrote her a love song called "Sandy Kisses" because our first kiss was filled with sand and salt and ... there's never been more wonderful.

Well ... later it got more wonderful!

"Hey Babes," Sarah says interrupting my obsessions standing in the doorway holding her bikini top over her boobs, "will you tie me?"

Knocking over everything on the table under the Umbrella I jump up and grab her strings.

"Double knot me, okay?" she says.

"God I want to," I think.

She leaves to get the other Lingenfelters ... which is good ... because I need to catch my breath ... and get a grip on myself.

Plopping back in my chair I release the grip on myself.

Jim Morris reminds to be laid back and Key Wasted ... so I plop my tanned feet on the rail only to be very pleasantly surprised when Sarah plants a big one on me to say goodbye.

She and the older Lingenfelters leave.

The little one's still asleep.

"Well," I say to myself. "I'm not Beach Bum enough for her."

So I write Sean asking if we can get together for beers because ... obviously ... I need coaching.