May 5, 2015, 6:16 CDT, Navarre Beach, Florida
Well today I got, as beach goers would say, “thumped.” I know. There were red flags up. Did we heed them? I think you already know the answer to that. No. We trodded right out into the nasty tough surf and got into the water, regardless, my bran screaming that line from “The World According to Garp” the whole time: “Watch out for the undertoad!” My legs swiftly carried me, nonetheless, out into the vicious and gnarly waves, where I was fine. No red flags needed. Valiantly fighting the undertoad for at least 5 minutes.
Then, flat on my ass I was flung. Then pushed back. Then pulled into the ocean. I raised my hands, looks at the vet wide expanse of water and laughed.
That, my friends, is what pissed off the ocean to no avail, apparently. For, it was in that very moment when she flung a mighty wave in my direction, which in turn thumped me straight into the ocean floor. Which was about 18″ deep, unfortunately.
Even right I was not to be overtaken my her majesty, I was a bit hurt. I put on a brave face as I grabbed my boogie board and treaded my way back to Sweetie, who was relaxing in a nearby chair, chuckling under his breath. He asked me if I was okay. I, l code, said everything was great. The ocean (I said in a huffy voice, I might add) would not and had not conquered me!
Then I turned around and calmly asked him if my back was bleeding.
It wasn’t, but the swim top had to come off. So I just woke a shirt the rest of the day. Thankfully, it’s the beach. No one else is really wearing all their clothing, either. So I fit right in.
I honestly think that bras were invented to be as completely uncomfortable as possible. If I could choose a cup size, it would be an A. Perhaps a small B. Bigger than the and they are just a pain in the ads, honestly.
So, with a full day on the beach, a full day of sand, surf, and waves, we finally came back upstairs to relax a bit before dinner. It’s Cinco de Mayo, so we will be having chili. It’s the closest I want to Mexican food right now.
I’ll, of course, be cooking sans brassiere.
With all the kids gone, I might just make it a nightly habit!