Week 29: Over-Easy Egg Tits

Week 29: Over-Easy Egg Tits

Life on the island isn’t so bad. I really enjoy the absence of certain things I encounter on a daily basis, such as the horny rabbits living in the condo above me. Every now and then it’s healthy to seclude yourself on an island, find your own rabbit, and tell the rest of the world to f off.

We kayaked away from the mainland and have been living here on Shell Key since Friday.  The weekend has been quite special thus far. Just yesterday, I was informed that no matter what, Ryan will never leave me. Yea, it’s romantic. And while I’m only “ten pounds away from being put on a plan,” he has no intention to dump me as a result of the tan hotdog roll collection I’ve been calling a stomach lately. As I sat around the campfire and inhaled a can of hash I wondered if he was serious about putting me on a plan…you just never know with him.  “I wouldn’t love you any more at 105 pounds, but I’d certainly take you to more populated islands.”  Okay, yup, he’s serious. I’ll start working out Monday. Actually, it’s the 4th of July. Let’s make it Tuesday.

Our first night on the island was great because we were the only people for miles (with exception of one man who was engaged in a self-proclaimed survivor challenge). Saturday morning our secluded weekend getaway plans shit the bed. We woke up to more than 30 individuals arriving by boat to take over our island. They must have been looking for wild watermelons because I can’t think of any other reason this particular group would have colonized here.

Ryan didn’t seem phased by all of the action and built a wonderful shell-rimmed fire pit and benches made of sand. As I stared at his adult sand castle, wondering how bored he must be, he interrupted my thoughts by saying, “I was going to write WILL YOU MARRY ME in shells, followed by a tiny line that said just kidding, but I didn’t know if you’d find that funny.”  I didn’t answer him but I believe my blank stare let him know just how funny I would have found that.

These invaders had clearly failed to see the “No Trash” sign before settling on our island and their loud drunk cursing and lack of education was really pissing me off. Ryan made an amazing campfire dinner of macaroni and cheese, ribs and clam chowder and with the box of wine we were crushing, soon enough I had drowned them out.

We awoke this morning to find all of the invaders, watermelon free, departing our island. They must be going to Church’s Chicken for brunch. While I packed up a few things, Ryan took a pleasant shit in the gulf. With the current being so strong, there was no risk of anyone ever encountering it, except the dolphin that may have eaten it. Ryan often cracks himself up but today he’s really losing it. He chuckles to himself and keeps saying it was a “bidet in the bay!”

Speaking of Church’s Chicken, we need to find our own brunch but we’ve got an hour kayak back to shore before we can even consider it. Our kayaking journeys always go as follows: Ryan 100 or 200 yards beyond Michelle, Michelle’s arms burning in attempt to keep up, Ryan arriving on shore 5 minutes before me. When we arrive on shore, we decided on Skyway Jacks since we camped relatively close to the Skyway Bridge. Skyway Jacks has won numerous awards and comes highly recommended so we’re giving it a shot while we’re in town. Hopefully they are not receiving the same awards as The Refinery because we all know how the food is going to taste if that’s the case.

Upon arriving at Skyway Jacks, I instantly know I’m going to enjoy our time here. The waitresses all have a pair of over-easy eggs screen printed across the chest of their uniforms, there are fat people everywhere, and it smells of grease. Finally, another great diner.

As always, Ryan has trouble with the menu and goes back and forth in his decision making process and cravings for everything. The waitress approaches us about 3 times before we’re actually ready to order so Ryan distracts her by ordering a beer. I let the waitress know that I’m not the reason for the hold up, I know what I want and I’m easy. “Oh honey! Don’t go tellin’ everyone!”  Her joke is followed by a sympathy laugh from Ryan and a fake smile from me. Honestly lady, I’m not too concerned about it. I’m not the one wearing over-easy eggs on my tits.

We finally order. Ryan orders one of the specials: ribs and shrimp with a side of fries and macaroni salad. I go the breakfast route and order a separate special, which is an Italian sausage skillet. Before our waitress can walk away, Ryan makes sure to order a side of biscuits and gravy. He may not be that hungry, but Southern Living Magazine claims that if you die while eating Skyway Jack’s biscuits and gravy, you will die happy. We’ll have to see for ourselves, and just skip the whole death part.

There were several things that we could have been brave and ordered, but after a weekend of camping we didn’t want to take any risks. Their Hobo Hash is apparently to die for and consists of scrambled eggs, bacon, cheese, potatoes, pepper and onions smothered in sausage gravy with biscuits on the side. They also have a highly recommended Philadelphia Scrapple Platter and I’m a huge fan of that grey mystery meat— I’m surprised I didn’t order it. And then, there is the Pig Brains Scrambler. Use your imagination. Ryan says we’ll be back for all of those.

Despite our order of minimal risk, our meal is to die for, just as Southern Living Magazine has claimed. Ryan’s macaroni salad was absolutely perfect, with just the right amount of mayonnaise. My skillet had nacho cheese mixed into it and I made huge gooey egg and sausage sandwiches out of the whole wheat toast I had on the side.

Skyway Jacks, we’ll be back. Your waitresses aren’t funny (or hot) but your food is phenomenal and that’s worth a trip or two across the bay.

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