Last week my husband and I were on vacation in Grand Cayman. We were having a wonderful time relaxing in the sunshine by day and enjoying the quiet of star studded nights. Until the people next door arrived. There we were having a glass of wine on the dock at sunset when a cargo van pulled up in the neighboring driveway. We watched in horror as the house filled with young men–college kids, we later found out. Within minutes the stereo was booming, “What is that?” I said. “Yela Wolf,” my husband told me. “Yellow Wolf?” I said. “No, Yela Wolf.” With that the whooping began. We had no idea that people still whooped, wasn’t that an eighties trend? Then the drinking games started; a whistle blow for every shot. As if some sort of mating call had been sent, kayaks overflowing with young women began to arrive at their dock, answering their whoops. The women immediately had drinks in hand and were queuing up for the game. We had to do something.
My husband and I walked over to the neighbor’s dressed in our under armor. The kids were gathered around the pool, drinking. Heads turned and the whooping stopped as we stepped toward the pool. We removed our Depends and dentures and threw them into the pool. They retreated into the house. We then went back to our house and cranked up the Marantz receiver and blared our Bose 901’s. We played John Denver ‘Thank God I’m a Country Boy’, and sang harmony. The Carpenters followed with, ‘We’ve Only Just Begun’. We had them retching. Then we went in for the kill. We blared Lobo, ‘Me and You and a Dog named Boo’. The last we saw of them, the van was pulling out of the driveway.
We saw, we conquered, we kicked their ass!