I dragged my family way down the beach to the one place I really wanted to hit while we are on vacation.  It's a bar on a pier where they actually lower down a bucket of icy cold beers while you lounge around down below in inner tubes.   This is better than a "swim up" bar, because you get all the beer without needing to do all the swimming. So it's more of a "reach up" bar.

Only what happened to me is that my daughters were way up at the main part of the bar, next to the bartender who was doing the lowering. Once he left, and before I could grab a bottle, they pulled my bucket up and took some for themselves (the drinking age here is 18 so they felt they had every right). Then they started re-lowering the bucket full of ice and the remaining beers.

At the same time, and in an effort to keep me closer to the beer once it got back down to me, Bo kept pushing me directly under it.  So when I looked up, all I could see was the round, white bottom of the heavy container, and above that, my kids -- Margot with the camera and Greta lowering the anvil bucket. I kept yelling for him to move me out of its path but he was laughing really hard and with all the loud music I couldn't really communicate with him.  So, in the photo below, though it looks like I am being affectionate with Bo, I'm actually crying and trying to strangle him.

Today is Greta's 18th birthday and I'm proud of her and love her for lots of reasons, but mostly because she can hold her liquor.