The day I yelled at the sea: Part I

I sat there on that tropic beach, that beach I had only been able to imagine up until that day, watching the turquoise waves come in and then go back out. Over and over again. The warm constant breeze enveloped me and made me forget that snow existed in some part of the world, some unfortunate part, at that precise moment. It seemed somewhat impossible given my current surroundings.
My porcelain white skin, dotted with the freckles of my youth, tingled under the brightness of the sun. It was the same skin that had just been layered with a high powered sunblock to avoid the uncomfortable tragedy of a sunburn. There would be no repeat of that fateful summer at Myrtle Beach when I was ten, now referred to as The Summer of the Simultaneous Sunburns. No. I wanted this vacation to be as close to perfection as possible. So yes there were copious amounts of sunblock.

There was also a swimsuit, and I was wearing it oddly enough. Porcelain skin and all. To be honest though I had brought multiple choices in swimwear because indecisiveness has always been one of my better attributes, but this day I decided on a modest tankini, full coverage on top and slightly less coverage on the bottom. That could not be helped. For what God saw fit to deny me up top he saw fit to bestow on the bottom instead. Years of squats would never change that. The only thing to do was embrace it or cover it up. At the moment I was covering it up with a pair of shorts.

I glanced at my fellow beach goers who were also partaking in this island paradise, and they proudly donned their swimsuits. Some more revealing than others. Some more aged than others. Some more well fitted than others. But all doing their job as "swimsuits" fine enough.

One woman wore a classic black one piece. She played with her four kids in the sand and exuded a particular aura that made her beautiful and carefree. I wondered if I had been wrong in judging a one piece swimsuit as futile.

But then I envisioned the whole bathroom debacle she would surely have to endure at some point during the day and I felt reassured in my decision.

Everything was perfect. The sun. The sea. The sand. The swimsuit. And it was time. Time for me to get in the water.

The only thing left to do was some embracing. 

As I walked towards the ocean, with the pair of shorts left behind on the beach towel, I believed I had finally found my perfect picturesque moment. Little did I know when I dipped my toes in the foamy water that the sea was angry that day, my friends.

Things were about to get most definitely NOT perfect . . .


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