Foul Weather Friend

May every pair of sweatpants you buy that loudly proclaim “THE END” on your butt shrink in the wash. The same goes for all your fake, obnoxiously red lifeguard sweatshirts too. May the seagulls steal your last of your french fries after you feed them just one at Gosman’s, and may your little cousin refuse to eat at The Dock after getting an eyeful of the decor.

When you hit the real traffic and it’s one road for miles, may you switch radio stations just in time to hear the last line of your favorite song. Even when the pace begins to pick up, may you be stuck behind an old man in his sedan with Floridian license plates.

When you make it to Gaviloa’s right before they stop serving breakfast sandwiches, may the line take more minutes than there are until 11AM. And when you go fluke fishing, may you catch a stingray that’s twice as heavy as the fluke that won the pot for someone else.

May every picture you take in front of, on top of, and featuring the statue at Ronjo’s be blurry. When you inevitably get sunburnt, may you be more embarrassed by the tan lines from your shoes; it serves you right, because you ought to know to take them off as soon as you hit sand. May The Montauk Movies and their one screen only be showing the flick you brought everyone to see the week before you made it out here.

May your niece demand that you bring her to the top of the lighthouse just as you finish taking the stairs down with your nephew, never mind that she didn’t want to go up twenty minutes ago. May you spend half as much at Captain Kid’s as you did on the hotel room, and may the little ones decide the packaging is almost as interesting as the toys.

May the ice cream parlor in the harbor be perpetually out of your favorite flavor, and the customer ahead of you purchase the last brownie. May it rain on the days you decide to leave the umbrella and shine on the days you bring it, and be too warm on the days you forgo layers for a bulky sweater. May your bed sheet pull off the corners of your mattress every night, and may you wake up with cold feet no longer under the blankets.

May you step in gum if you ever come down my street.

But may the sweatpants be exactly what you needed for the nights out here that were a little bit colder than you expected, and may they be the perfect gear to watch your first breathtaking sunset in while you sit on the beach and your sister gets the fire going after your father couldn’t.

May the end of your favorite song be followed by the one that everyone in the backseat knows the words to, even if they can’t follow the tune so well, and may the entertainment in singing as loudly as they can last until you make it to the back way through Sag Harbor.

And may missing your egg sandwich lead you to discover one of the two pancake places in town, and may the triumphant photo with your catch be worth the five dollars you put into the pot.

May you get teased by your well-meaning beach neighbor, sprawled out on a towel not far from your family’s encampment of coolers and folding chairs, and may you go for a trail ride instead of watching the movie for the second time, and fall in love with your horse and your guide’s Irish accent.

When you get to the top for the second time, may her awe and the grin that pulls across her face as the wind whips her hair be more than worth the climb. May the giggles coming from the next room while they pop bubble wrap be as precious as the toy hanging from one hand off the side of the bed an hour later.

May you get offered a bite of everyone else’s ice cream until you find a flavor you like even better, and may the waffle cone surpass any baked good. May you roll up your jeans and stand in the waves to cool off, and may you have someone’s warm legs to press your cold toes against.