I took off my shoes (as it's against my personal religion to visit the Oregon coast and not dabble my toes in the surf) and for the rest of our walk, my feet were numb. It was a small price to pay.
After our walk, we made our way back to the parking lot and then stood, looking over the sand, where 5 people were attempting to get one monster inflatable kite off the ground. There was a motorhome behind us, and I glanced over my shoulder. The writing on the front said "Assflounder."
I do a double take. Surely it can't say ASSflounder. Has to say something else.
It does say something else. It says "Assfinder."
I do another take. Surely it can't say ASSfinder. It has to say something else.
...No. No, indeed, it DOES say Assfinder.
I point it out to Charley. He wonders if it would be weird if he tried to get a picture of it with his cell phone. I say yes, it would be weird, especially since I see someone changing their clothes in the back.
So we settled for sneaking glances over our shoulders at the Assfinder, otherwise looking so innocuous. A man came out from the back and sat in the driver's seat. A woman came out and sat in the passenger seat. They looked to be in their late 40s/early 50s, wholesome and fresh-faced.
"Do you...think they KNOW?" asked Charley.
"I...don't know. They would have to, right?"
The couple saw us staring and grinned, as big as could be, and they waved at us as they drove away.
"Oh, yeah. They know," said my brother. As the motorhome's hind end swung towards us, we saw that, on the back, it said "Pathfinder." Indeed, motorhome people. Indeed.