Place of Birth

My favorite aunt once confided that, contrary to printed data on my birth certificate,
yours truly entered this world not within the sterile confines of Seaside Memorial
Hospital but rather in the back seat of a "woody wagon" parked on the beach.  This
alternate account of events certainly makes sense, given my lifelong affinity for sun,
sand, and a perfect allover tan; however, the chronicles of time are filled with similar 
anecdotal sidebars, so it is often difficult to separate fact from fancy.  In this case,
all other witnesses from that day have long ago crossed to the other side, so dear
Aunt Virginia, as the last survivor, has the last word.  Well, that's history for you.

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