I did not make it to the beach on Friday, but I did enjoy a long boat ride down the river with my son. True to my word to make it to the beach this weekend, I cancelled my consultation appointment on Sunday, packed my water, a chair and a book, and high-tailed it to a remote beach for a beach morning.
I’m talking morning. 8:30 a.m. It was a beautiful placid morning near the water, just me and some little white crabs that kept peering at me with their buggy eyes and raised claws. I took a few dips in the (still cold? Or newly cold?) water, and felt at peace as the ocean and I rediscovered each other.
It was tranquil. Until it wasn’t.
I heard their cackling before I saw them, and of course they sat near me, despite the empty, completely desolate beach. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:
I could be sunbathing, or parking, or eating, or walking, on a Siberian archipelago, and some fucking nimrod on a phone would plunk herself right down next to me and talk at full volume. It never fails.
WHERE DO I HAVE TO GO TO GET SOME PEACE AND QUIET? AND WHAT TIME SHOULD I BE THERE? OBVIOUSLY 8:30 A.M. ON A SUNDAY IS NOT EARLY ENOUGH!
But I digress.
So these two, er, well-endowed young women set up their blanket about twenty yards from me and proceeded to set up what looked like an Instagram photo shoot. As they gyrated and cavorted for almost two hours in the water and in the sand, I peered at them like they were one of those old 3D posters that if you squinted long enough, you’d finally be able to spot the spaceship in the middle.
In this case I was not looking for a spaceship, but reason. Sense. Rationale. Logic. And I came up empty-handed.
This is not a castigation of female social media influencers. What do I care? If they enjoy it, more power to them. I am simply making the observation that I’m old.
Not geriatric old. More like “I refuse to learn any more new technology” old.
What I don’t get about young girls:
Their need to cackle and scream at full volume.
The improbability of high waisted pants making a comeback despite the fact that they weren’t even flattering in the ‘70’s.
Their application of horrid-smelling fruity lotions.
Their insistence on wearing pajamas to attend college classes.
Their refusal to date anyone under 6’0.
Their confidence that brandishing their gorgeous bums on social media will result in…what? A husband? Fame? Likes?
One day social media will come crashing down and where will all of these young people be?
Oi.
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