Jill Thomas is a rambler, traveler, and storyteller with a big laugh who believes life takes her where she needs to go, no matter the roundabout path.
Late in the pandemic, our favorite Pensacola Beach dive bar was short-staffed, so they removed their picnic tables. The tables usually sit in the white sand in front of a long pier that jets out into the warm, shallow waters of the Santa Rosa Sound.
When it's hot, which is most of the time, the pier and water around it is chock a block with boats full of scantily clad revelers happily getting blind drunk (some in the water, some in boats, some in the bar).
On this particular Sunday Funday, my BFF Cathy Wade was visiting from Canada, so I was in the best kind of mood. A bunch of us rode our beach cruiser bikes to the bar with cocktails in the cup holders attached to our handlebars. It's tradition to arrive with your first drink in hand at the Paradise - it's all good as long as you order another drink the moment the server asks.
Our group wasn't deterred by the absence of picnic tables - we strapped our beach chairs to our bikes with bungee cords and duct tape, plunked them in the sand in front of the pier, and took turns fetching drinks from the bar.
Sunday Funday at the Paradise is always packed with a shocking assortment of humanity - people ages 2 to 102, bikers, local business tycoons, beach locals, and tourists . . . Everyone comes, usually directly from church.
On Sunday Funday the party ramps up fast, hitting a crescendo of insanely fun hilarity around 2 pm. People-watching is next level, with parents spinning their kids around the dance floor, hippies wiggling in hula hoops, drunk girls in bikinis getting their flirt on, and tourists with a big smile on their faces thinking this is their lucky day.
On this Funday Sunday, Cathy and I sat in our beach chairs, toes in the sand, watching a beautiful medley of human beings parade back and forth on the pier like an oddball fashion show. After a few drinks, we decided to choose a winner for the best-dressed woman in the bar.
The woman we chose was in her seventies, white-haired, wearing a starched white sundress with yellow daisies, a daisy purse and earrings, and color-coordinated sandals. With not a drop of sweat on her brow or a hair out of place, she oozed Southern charm.
Cathy walked over to her, told her about the contest, and awarded her the prize - a margarita. Our winner teared up and hugged Cathy - she was so touched. She told Cathy she was at the bar that day because her son pressured her to take the afternoon off from sitting in the hospital with her dying husband.
Ever since, when Cathy and I see a woman our age or older whose outfit we adore, we say, "Look at that, that's a Margarita." If she is close enough, we tell her, "We love your outfit," because we know that it might just make her day.
The party at Paradise usually ends around 4 pm, and the beach locals (including us) ride their beach cruisers home, weaving a little on the sandy backroads with a warm last drink sloshing out of their cupholders. We all know that the ride home is the best part of Sunday Funday, but I would be lying if I said accidents never happen.
For instance, on this particular Sunday Funday, Catherine Wade t-boned her bike into mine, causing me to crash and scrape the skin off of my boobs (I'm still stumped as to how that happened precisely).
READ MORE > JT's Tales From the Trail, Rambler Cafe Blog
Love this story!! Just thinking about how you made that woman’s day makes me smile. 🤗
I am the Cathy in this story. This brought back the memory of this day and how special it was. I still tell women all the time if I like their outfit or that look really nice. It always brings a look of surprise and then a big smile. You should try it!
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