I don't wear bloomers in the water until at least November.
The beach is wild and empty, not overflowing with umbrellas, towels and full-sized tents that, yes, people bring to hide their children from the sun. There are no lifeguards, so you'd better stay close to shore.
So sea bathing is what I finally did yesterday for the first time all summer. In October. (Shut up.)
There wasn't a soul on the beach for 300 yards in either direction, soul being the operative word because, nearby, the dozen winged demon gulls just stared at each other on the beach for a good two hours before all flying off together in a pack. Earlier this summer they tried to bully me out of a funnel cake until I left.
Because no lifeguards and no conscionable beings were nearby, bathing is just about all I did, treading in the bizarrely calm water. (For the last several years, I've barely encountered a wave while swimming. It's getting weird, like the ocean's thinking, "Just play dead and maybe she'll go away.") Also, I mentally accused every current of holding sharks and jellyfish, and I recently learned how to identify potential riptides. So swimming any great distance was off the table.
Apparently, neither grocery store nor drug store believe skin cancer is a concern after Autumn Equinox, so I couldn't find sunscreen anywhere. But after 3 p.m. I was just lucky the sun was still out. (In another month, that won't even be a concern, as 3 p.m. will be approaching twilight.)
But it was a lovely 80-degree afternoon. I got my hair wet, got some color, and read a few graveyard scenes from Dracula. And dang, I needed it. I've felt such a weight for the last year. My summer job ended last weekend, the paper just finished two major publications, and we got a new sports reporter, so I'm breathing again for the first time in about 16 months. I've gone to bed before midnight twice now.
Who wants to hang out?
