After having an intense conversation about how AWESOME college was and how much we missed it and MAN THOSE WERE PIVOTAL YEARS OF OUR LIVES we realized it was around noon and we were wasting precious time on a Sunday, one of the most precious days of the week! I wanted to get a massage and she wanted to go get a mani/pedi and we both probably had a bunch of other not-necessary tasks to carry out. But as we thought about what time it was we both knew there was really only one thing to do: sunbathe.
Time was in fact, sooo precious that we couldn't head to Malibu, or even the beach a mere two blocks and 150 steps away at the end of the room. Prime tanning hours were dwindling, so our questionably clean pool would be the tanning spot du jour.
Just as we both set up side by side on our respective lounge chairs, I uttered the following sentence, and think perhaps a more genius thought has never passed through my lips.
"Dude. We need floats."
And with just four words we knew we could never go back. We knew our outlook on life had shifted and that a pool float was essential to our existence from that point forward. Off we went, hopping into DiTonto's little red VW Bug, contemplating the closest pharmacy that was also most likely to carry the object of our desire.
First stop, Patton's Pharmacy just five blocks east on Montana. A drug store that was small, but just eccentric enough to maybe offer pool toys. But no, there were no floats to be found.
Next up, CVS on Lincoln Blvd, what seemed like a guarantee. Again, no dice. But there was no turning back. We were in it to win it. And nothing would get in the way of our quest for a pool float and an optimal tanning condition. Even if that mean less hours spent tanning while locating said float.
Next stop, the big Rite Aid at Wilshire and 19th where Ditonto proceeded to drive the wrong way through not one but two parking lots. It was a large pharmacy. They had everything you might spontaneously desire, but again, NO FLOATS. We were in a level of hell! No, it was PURGATORY!
As we agreed that we wouldn't venture east of Barrington and maybe we should try a sporting goods store we came upon Walgreens.
"Here, here!" I cried, holding out on the hope that my memories of pool toys at the Walgreens in Naples, Florida might shed a chance at finding them here in LA.
We rush into the store, breeze through aisles and VICTORY! So many floats! Inflatable, luxury, some with cup holders, some made of mesh and easy to use and store. I started to ask Ashleigh if maybe we should buy the mesh floats (also cheaper) but was distracted by the object in her hand: the 61" Royal Deluxe Pool Mattress. CHECK PLEASE.
Triumphant, we returned to our apartment, not even bothering to go upstairs--just straight to the pool. But then another obstacle! HOW DO WE BLOW THEM UP? THEY ARE TOO LARGE FOR JUST MY BREATH! WHY DID WE NOT BUY THE MESH FLOATS! THEY WERE EASY TO USE AND TO STORE! AND CHEAPER! WE ARE SO STUPID IT'S PHENOMENAL!
We tried using Ashleigh's volleyball pump and briefly contemplated driving to the nearest gas station, but ultimately, due to our joint laziness and thought process that at this point tanning was the most important thing, we decided to blow them up ourselves. This was not enjoyable. Also, I learned that Ashleigh's lung capacity is far superior to mine, so much so that after about twenty minutes had passed since she finished hers she took over mine too.
And then, finally, after the journey, the anticipation, the science(?), the two of us settled into our floats and comfortably spent the rest of the afternoon in the pool. It was heaven. Just like Harold and Kumar, we succeeded. And Ashleigh succeeded in looking more like Kumar while I succeeded in looking less like Harold. Perfection.
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