(And a cautionary tale about tequila, big waves and sand in your tog bottoms.)
Day 2 of the super awesome Christmas gift guide!
And since Christmas in Australia is generally a warm affair, including many a visit to the beach or pool with family and friends, pool pressies seem an obvious choice to pop under the tree this year.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I go to the beach I like to get wet. I swim, I boogie board, I body surf – in short, I like to get amongst it. I love the feel of salt water and breeze on my skin and I can handle sand in my tog bottoms and beach bag.
Which reminds about the numerous times in my life I have been dumped. No, no, not that sort of dumped! I’m talking about killer waves at the beach! One instance, in particular stands out. Naturally, for all the wrong reasons.
Wrong reason number 1. I was severely hungover. Tequila hungover. A group of us in our late twenties was celebrating (for the life of me I can’t remember what, exactly, but I do know we went pretty hard) at a friend’s apartment just opposite the beach. Among the hazy memories from that night is the smashing of a glass coffee table by somebody’s bum falling onto it, and their body following close behind. No blood, thankfully. There was riotous laughter, that’s a given. And there were fleas in the spare mattresses. No laughter in the middle of the night when, drunk, hot and sweaty and slightly disoriented, the teeth of a thousand tiny bugs sink into your flesh, time and time again.
No wonder we opted for a swim in the ocean the next morning. Clear the head, heal the bites, work the pain out of our poor, sorry bodies.
Wrong reason number 2. It was rough. The waves were messy. There was an undercurrent, a bit of a rip, ready to carry off poor swimmers and hungover fools to certain death or at the very least, give them bit of a scare.
Which is pretty much what happened to me. In my fuddle-headed, bite-infested state I somehow drifted out a little far and couldn’t get back in. Between the undercurrent and a bashing, crashing waves around me, I was starting to falter. By chance, one of my friends noticed my desperate arm wave and sent out a couple of more able bodied rescuers to bring me back in.
We made our way back to shallower water, although here the waves were wild and smashing the sand. When my feet touched the ground again I started heading to shore, one of my rescuers still holding my wrist. Suddenly a couple of roiling, rumbling, vicious waves smashed over me in quick succession and I performed an unintentional underwater somersault, connecting with the ground once or twice, and wrenching my arm from its socket as my erstwhile companion held fast to me.
I finally dragged myself up out of the water, gasping and a little stunned, blood dripping from my brow and my shoulder grazed and stinging, feeling tender. I stumbled to my beach towel and fell onto it, sitting facing the ocean, arms wrapped around my legs. That’s when I noticed the bulge in my tog bottoms. A nice fat wad of sand had deposited itself there, creating a firm and gritty roll between fabric and feminine parts. At least the hangover was gone.
Swimming pools are a little different. I might try the odd lazy lap but generally pools are for cooling down, lolling about and chatting with pool buddies. And maybe a social drink.
Which is probably why this little 4-cup drink flamingo floatie from Lark Store floats my boat. And any of their cool floaty things would be perfect for an Aussie summer day lazing around in the wave-free and calm waters of a pool. Minus the sand wad in the knickers, of course…