We got ice cream and lemonade,
A pocket fulla quarters at Jilly’s arcade.
I am not, alas (because I want to be!!! I want the shore season to be longer!) and whew (because I’m sure traffic is murder), not down the shore this weekend. For me, “the shore” is Ocean City, NJ, American’s Greatest Family Resort (TM).
I spent a lot of summers there. First we just went like the typical shoebie (and we did, in fact!, at least once bring lunch in a shoebox!), then we had a house, and then, alas, the hotel. So many summers spent being tormented in the hospitality industry (yes, I’ve chambermaided like crazy).
Zoe and I wrote some few awkward love letters over the first summer that I worked systematically at the hotel. I don’t think it was until after the giant 6 story structure was torn down and replaced with a more standard motel that she ever saw it. But she had heard plenty and that little bit of exposure was surely enough. (She witnessed, I believe, my classic chambermaid move of using the guest’s razor to remove the tampon she popped into the toilet and then put it back where I got it from.)
Ocean City is no longer as depicted in the song, at least not entirely. They keep the beaches built up so much that water never goes under the boardwalk anymore. This song is a pure slice of my childhood with all its ambiguity.
(The Music Monday constraint (i.e., 15-20 minutes) is brutal! I’ll have to post some more about this!)