I'm back, my pretties, and I am well-done with crispy edges. The Texas Riviera was sweeter than had been expected... considering those expectiations were pretty low. We drove through wind and rain, crossing our fingers that the weather would be behind us so that we could enjoy some sun and surf and not have driven a bazillion hours just to be rained out. And we got mega lucky. First off, we'd expected to stay at the only lodging available to last-minute cheap-skate travelers; The No-tell Mo-tel. The goal was to cram 5 of us + one dog in there and pray that roachies wouldn't crawl into our ears and make themselves at home. But then! Then, a good buddy of mine, Beavis, from crappy small town high school says, "Mi casa es su casa!" and we wept from joy. Beavis happens to be situated all of 5 minutes from the beach. Plus, he knows the skinny on the happenin' post-beach clam-bakes cause he's a local. He was super fun and his chica was super cute. But wait! The best thing of all was the significant lack of diapers floating in the Gulf. Don't get me wrong, we could see oil platforms to the left of us, and construction crews to the right, but, other than that, a fairly clean beach. "Clean" being a relative term closer to the 'someone picked up all of the hypodermic needles' side of the spectrum. Needless to say, we sunned, drank and were quite merry indeed. I walked away with random patches of burn - I'm not all that adept at slathering myself with sun block. Hubster, though, oy! His feet. It's always his feet. I even put block on them this time and still, we get back to Beavis' homestead and they looked like someone slapped the crap out of them. It looked like someone had piled hot coals onto his feet instead of him having to walk across them. He's a trooper though... put on his shoes like his feet hadn't been grilled and weren't blistering or anything. It's gonna suck when they start to peel. The title of this post is dedicated to you, my loving Hubster, and your toasty, crispy tootsies.