(Wavy)

With ocean waves, wavy comes in degrees. Not just the waves, but peoples’ perceptions too. It’s always amazing how assorted people at different wave intelligence levels are affected by this. Course many folk aren’t affected at all because those poor things and dames don’t live anywhere near an ocean. Their best conceptualization of a wave is a heat wave. A windy day on a big lake doesn’t count.
When watching the ten foot wave the expert surfer can be heard saying, in some sort of thwarted tone, “I guess we’ll have to just wait until another day when the waves are bigger. It has to be tougher than this to have any joy at all.” Usually some amateurs are nearby when he says this. Pure ego-enhancement. Condescending language fit for a giraffe near the ears of a Dachshund, on the topic of legs.
The amateurs go hide their boards, but don’t mind trying the lesser sports, bodysurfing, or boogy boarding. Even wading to waist level suffices to bring on the quirky smile that only accompanies a new skill. “Hey look at me. I’m way out here.” Even that’s a bit beyond the landlubber’s fear limit. But at least they think they can ride one in if need be. Out they go, allowing waves to crash at them mercilessly, occasionally riding one for all of two meters, their proud prairie smiling faces above farmer’s tans showing off their new found entertainment. That is – until the lack of any real prowess allows a fall from the crest of the one, somersaulting underwater like some spastic gymnast stuck in a clothes dryer, head narrowly missing sharp boulders of hardness. It was cruel and demeaning enough to bear the arrogant tone of the expert, and now this, nature herself humiliating the poor guy.
But alas, he’ll be saved by the plane.