I hate the beach, and not just because I’m fat
The idea of the ocean is pleasant enough. Ocean views from a wide expanse of deck seems downright calming (and inordinately expensive). But up close? Liquid death trap.
Why would I want to deal with sea lice (which has the unfortunate nickname, Bather’s Eruption”)?!?
Seriously, the ocean’s got its own government-slash-PR Agency, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, and it can’t wait to tell you about how dangerous the beach is!
Inevitably, the beaches I have access to (cheap and close to home) are less about relaxation, and more about the fight-to-the-death for any towel space at all.
But, on the off chance that it really is because I’m fat, I’m putting off our beach vacation until September. This way, it’ll be a celebration of leaving my job, and I’ll have time to put time in on the damn exercise bike.
Plus fewer people there.
Hmmm, maybe it’s not because I’m fat. Maybe I’m just a miserable grump who hates people. I’m not sure which is worse…
[The featured image is NOT of a fat woman. I wound up doing a search for “old fashioned bathing suits”. When I went to the originating page, it turned out to be an…interesting blog post that I’ll have to spend time a-pondering and deconstructing someday, titled, ‘Should a Christian Woman Wear a Bikini?‘]