You know those moments where you realize you’ve packed everything—sunscreen, snacks, floaties, even the kids’ bedtime books—and yet somehow missed the one thing you actually need? That was me, standing in a hotel room two hours from Miami, staring at Rex, who was staring at his suitcase like it had betrayed him.
No swim trunks. None. Just jeans, polos, and one tragic pair of khaki shorts that should never see salt water.
And of course, this wasn’t just any weekend. We’d planned a little mini escape—sand, sun, and an attempt at pretending we’re carefree beach people instead of overworked, sleep-deprived parents who haven’t had a conversation without being interrupted by “Mom, he took my shovel!” in seven years.
Cue the great “Trunk Hunt of 2013.”
Now, Rex is particular. He’s not one of those “grab anything” types. No, no. The man treats clothing like a loyalty program. He’s the guy who still wears the same board shorts he bought when Nico was born—faded, but “perfectly broken in.” So when I suggested we just run into one of those tourist surf shops, he gave me a look like I’d proposed he wear denim into the ocean.
So there we were, driving around a town where everything closes early, the boys in the backseat singing Baby Shark at full volume, and me on my phone trying to find any place open that sold swim trunks. And that’s when I saw it—Walmart.
Now listen, we are not Walmart people. Nothing against it, but it’s just not our usual stop. We’re more of a “Target, grab an iced coffee, pretend it’s self-care” family. But desperate times, right?
The minute we walked in, it was like stepping into another universe. Anthony immediately spotted a bin of beach balls and decided to test their bounce factor (spoiler: high). Nico asked if we could buy a fishing pole. And Rex—stoic, practical Rex—looked at the clothing racks like he’d just landed on Mars.
We searched. And searched. And when I was about to give up, there they were. A single rack of men’s swim trunks, tucked between the flip-flops and the “fun in the sun” t-shirts.
Rex held up a pair covered in giant flamingos. I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. He shrugged and said, “They’ll do.” And honestly, after all that, they had to.
Cut to a few hours later—him in the pool, flamingos blazing under the Florida sun, the kids splashing him like tiny maniacs, and me laughing so hard I nearly dropped my drink. He looked ridiculous, but in the best way. Free. Relaxed. Like the kind of dad who doesn’t care if he matches, just happy to be in the water with his kids.
Something about that moment stuck with me. All the stress of the search, the rush, the mini arguments—it all melted away. Sometimes life hands you a pair of flamingo swim trunks, and you just have to roll with it.
On the drive home, I told him those trunks were lucky now. He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. They’re already packed for our next trip.
And I have to admit—Walmart came through for us. I even grabbed a sunhat I didn’t need (because, obviously).
So yeah, maybe we’re Walmart people now. Or maybe we’re just the kind of people who’ve learned that a good story is worth more than perfect planning. Either way, those flamingo trunks have officially earned a spot in family history.
And next time? I’ll still probably forget something. But at least I know where to find backup trunks—and a little humility—in the same aisle.