A Stream of Slaps and Sighs

This weekend is the annual Float Trip.

It's been annual for about five or six years, and although kids and careers have taken a wrecking ball to the attendance figures, the core still remains, and I'm looking forward to a great weekend of overconsumption, time on the river, and if we're lucky, a little debauchery...or at least some boobies.

Now LAST YEAR, we actually had a little...(no wait, let me clarify, when I say we , I don't mean me or Trixie, or the core group, I mean the group in general, including the fringe element that shows up) wife swappin' and river lovin'.

It's no shit.

A couple of fringe friends and their girlfriends apparently REALLY hit it off, so much so that about half way through the float trip, when we all pulled over at the umpteenth sand bar to drink (cause you know you shouldn't drink and paddle), we lost them. We all shoved off, and about twenty minutes later we noticed that we were missing two couples.

We thought nothing of it and headed back to the end of the run and to our campsite.

And waited.

And waited.

And barbequed.

And drank.

And watched the sun set.

And waited.

And caught fireflies.

And finally, the four of them showed up, interrupting our speculative conversation...which actually centered around wife swappin' and river lovin'.

The rest of the night, the four maintained their distance from the rest of the group, finding harbor in a tent, which was actually pretty stupid because we could all see their shadows and hear their groans...and then we decided that if the "swingin' good timer's" were going to make all of us sick, we were going to disturb the slurping, slapping and sighing...by throwing a package of firecrackers into their tent.

God that was awesome.

And I thought nothing was louder than a whore's scream...My God was I wrong.

Slaps succumbed to snaps, cackles made way for crackles and banging just became BANG!

Ahh, the good times.

I'm hoping Dionysus stays home this weekend.