Yesterday I was invited to the home of some family friends' for lunch. When I admitted upon arrival that wasn't wearing my bikini, I got quizzical looks. When I clarified that I didn't have one in my purse to change into, I might as well have said that I had ripped off a layer of skin, rinsed it and left it on the line to dry.
(Needless to say a spare suit was procured and post-digestion paddling proceeded as planned.)
Some cities let their bodies of water do their own thing; they admire or fear them, but from a distance. Nice, on the other hand, holds the Mediterranean in a bear hug. The life of the city boils up in its hills and rushes down towards the pebbly beaches, sweeping us with it.
It's unavoidable, you see. Inescapable.
I know because everyday this week I found myself coming home with salty skin, straw-like hair and mascara raccoon eyes. And without the bus pass, stamps, or groceries I had planned to get when I showered, put on makeup and straightened my hair that morning.
No matter how strong my mental visualisation of myself crossing town, popping into the post office or stopping by the grocery store, five minutes out the door I was floating belly-up in the calm, warm sea water.
If I weren't so relaxed from a day on the beach, I'd probably muster up some frustration.
Instead, I'm learning my lessons.
No mascara. No hair straightening. No planning.
And always bring a bikini.
This is what I look at when I wait for the bus. Would you resist?
(Needless to say a spare suit was procured and post-digestion paddling proceeded as planned.)
Some cities let their bodies of water do their own thing; they admire or fear them, but from a distance. Nice, on the other hand, holds the Mediterranean in a bear hug. The life of the city boils up in its hills and rushes down towards the pebbly beaches, sweeping us with it.
It's unavoidable, you see. Inescapable.
I know because everyday this week I found myself coming home with salty skin, straw-like hair and mascara raccoon eyes. And without the bus pass, stamps, or groceries I had planned to get when I showered, put on makeup and straightened my hair that morning.
No matter how strong my mental visualisation of myself crossing town, popping into the post office or stopping by the grocery store, five minutes out the door I was floating belly-up in the calm, warm sea water.
If I weren't so relaxed from a day on the beach, I'd probably muster up some frustration.
Instead, I'm learning my lessons.
No mascara. No hair straightening. No planning.
And always bring a bikini.
This is what I look at when I wait for the bus. Would you resist?
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