A strange sight on Carmel beach

So far it had been a lovely trip to Carmel. Mindi and I had enjoyed fabulous massages at Le Spa. Full of margaritas and chicken chile relleno with mole sauce from Club Jalapeno, we sauntered down Ocean Avenue until, drawn in by the scent of a thousand bubblebaths, we discovered Lush, the best little soapery this side of Paris. (OK, so it is a franchise, but I'm absolutely hooked on the Godiva solid shampoo bar. It leaves my hair so volumized and shiny!)

So, we were feeling giddily pampered as we strolled down to the beach, sinking luxiously into the sugar-like white sands as we made our way down the dune, until -- EW! What was that?! A dead deer washed up on the beach?

"It's a male," a teen boy declared as we crept upon the swollen animal. "We watched it wash up."

The crowd of youngsters joined us in our inspection. It was, indeed, a male, though the evidence thereto was rapidly diminishing in decomposition. Felt still covered both points of the young innocent's antlers; its tongue dangled loosely in the sea.

The boy and a friend came over to pose for me by the poor thing, mocking a posture of conquest.

We met the girl's father the next day manning the Gallerie Rue Royale, where we were drawn in by Todd White's Night Life collection. The girl blew in noisily past the father, her cell phone trumping his request to keep it down.

The beleaguered gallery manager greeted us wearily and we revealed that we had met his daughter the previous night. He said he'd heard about us, and noting that we were a mother and daugther enjoying a getaway together, he asked hopefully, naively, what to expect of the abyss of adolescence that lay before him: "How long till I get my daughter back?"

We laughed. "How old is she?"

"Thirteen."

We laughed louder. "Oh, about ten years," I replied.

The poor soul visibly caved. He shared his concerns about the coming years, of which there were plenty, his being a retired physician and all. We offered our best strangerly advice and slipped out of the gallery, thankful to have those years behind us.

Now it's just good, honest hardheadness that comes between Me and the Min. At least she comes by it honestly.