Beach trauma

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I’ve not felt such trepidation since Nine-eleven.

This week, I’m going to the beach – that dreaded place I’ve managed to avoid for 12 years.

My friends think this is the coolest thing going.  A week at the beach, sunning, letting your cares float away with the tides. Lovely, huh?

I’m not crazy about the beach.  All that broiling in the sun, perspiring, sand in your suit, itching..please don’t make me go to the beach. I’ll do anything, but please don’t make me go to the beach. Can’t I sit inside and read my latest murder mystery and nap to the tune of the air conditioner?

And, pulleze, don’t make me wear a swim suit again in this lifetime.

But my friends think that’s the only way we can truly relax.

“What about Alaska,” I counter.  “Let’s go there.  The bears, the glaciers, the icy waters? The figure  concealing  jackets?”

Nope, I was voted down and the beach is where we are going. So I began to prepare.  The only decent tan I ever had came out of a tube and that’s the way I intend to keep it. I slathered on several layers of sunless tanning lotion and the only thing I got was webbed fingers the shade of peanut butter.

I went to Belk’s to buy a swim suit.  I tried on 12 suits and discovered I looked okay head on; the side view was problematic.  I finally found one with a skirt that reminded me of a the tennis dress I wore in 1978 when I won second place in the Starkville Country Club tennis championship (I’ve been trying to find a way to slip that in – my only claim to fame.)

To make my ensemble complete I really need one of those ugly rubber swimming caps that  make you look like a pinhead.  Does anyone have one I could borrow?

I paid $88 for that dadgum suit and kicked myself hard because I know I’ll never wear it again and it will never even touch water. So on Wednesday, we’re heading out with five girls stuffed into Surburban with tons of lotion and high hopes.  I’m not even sure the beach house has internet hook-ups. Maybe I can find a library so I can feed my “deluded diva addiction.”

Below is my greatest fear – heaven help us!

old-ladies

The only thing that can save me now is a big hurricane.

5 thoughts on “Beach trauma

  1. O. K. Emily….you have scared me to death!!!!!!!!! I am out the door and on my way to the gym this VERY minute!!!

  2. Please Marie! You don’t want us close
    to you on the beach. We’re all gym
    drop outs. Ready or not, here we come.

  3. Hey, don’t be wishing hurricanes on us! I am going to miss you all at the beach, but Jill and I are having a wonderful time in Estes Park, Colorado. It is so wonderful to be back in this beautiful state. You would love it because it is cold and we have been covered up in sweaters all day! We will go through Rocky Mt. National Park tomorrow on the way to Colorado Springs where I spent four years of my life. It will be interesting to see all the changes since I lived there. Have fun at the beach and don’t get cooked!

  4. Emily,

    If I can wear a Speedo in public, you can wear a swim suit at the beach.
    Used to say my legs looked like roadmaps, but now, I’m cool, and just say GPS or sumpin.

    Maybe you could just be all covered up in light weight clothing, and a wide brimmed hat, and just watch the others a while, walk along the beach a while, sit a spell, etc., without having to step in the water or get your feet all sandy. You could carry along one of those little bitty folding outdoor chairs that sit low to the ground and wouldn’t take up much space.

    Most folks really go for the seafood anyway.
    Cuz

    Cuz

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