Nope, I don’t surf, but if I did, this is what I’d look like, and I’d be blonde, too!
While he’s surfing, I’m cleaning the house and doing massive loads of his laundry that came home in the biggest black plastic garbage bag I’ve ever seen.
It’s so big, I could fit inside of it.
They have a washer/dryer on board; I suppose it’s much easier for him to stuff it in his suitcase and know that his live-in maid/laundress/cook will wash, dry, fold, and put it all away while he’s riding the wild surf.
Or maybe it’s a primitive vestigial trait just like the way a kitty brings a dead rat home and lays it at your feet.
Yeah, it’s just like that.
His laundry = dead animal prize.
No problem, Tugboat Man, you worked hard and deserve a little R & R. I saved my pilgrimage to South Coast Plaza for that perfect wedge ’til you came home so you could enjoy spending the day following me around the mall, too!
Payback and all that, right?