Beach bitch

In an ideal world everything goes according to plan. But this is not an ideal world. And we don’t even have a “pla.”

So heres how a beach day goes.

“Lets meet at 2.” you said, which is an unspoken agreement to get there by 3 while aiming for 2:30. If we’re lucky, that is. We’ll get held up by trivial matters, procrastinate till the last minute to leave, miss a couple buses, spend too much time picking up snacks at convenience stores, and ultimately arrive at 4.

Oh well, still in time to catch the sunset.

We’ll pick one of the leftover spots to lay out our mats, or a oversized towel in my case, plop down and get our sunscreens out. We could never be bothered to apply it on evenly, as if we’re making up for lost time by rapidly slathering it on. Then the next time you’ll complain that your tan is uneven, and i’ll give you the eye. Got no one to blame but ourselves. But we never learn.

We’ll get our books out and have a solid 5 minutes read before something distracts us. And we’re easily distracted. All is takes is a frisbee to whizz past or some cows to stroll by for us to put our books down. “Im sleepy.” You let out a yawn. “Camus isn’t making any sense.” I’ll pretend to be an intellectual and get a couple more pages turned before giving in to lie down and bask in the remaining sunlight with you.

We’ll have this conversation about why we’re not cool enough. Just two losers making last minute plans with each other because we have nth better to do, no one else to hang out with. Then we make plans for our next beach trip. A successful one, mind you. Next time we’ll get there on time and secure the optimum spot. We’ll invite this and that to come along and finally be part of a picturesque beach scene, beers in hand and vibing to music with a large group of friends. “Next time definitely.” I agreed, knowing full well that the same things will happen all over again.

And i’ll enjoy every last minute of it.