Random Question: What's the most amount of sand you've ever had in your swimming trunks?
I used to actually find a weird thrill in having sand in my swimming trunks. I couldn't get enough sand. Arriving at the beach I'd feverishly scoop handfuls of sand into my shorts.
As I walked on the beach, people would stare in alarm at my swim trunks, which looked like a conspicously overloaded diaper. In time I found myself buying ever larger swim trunks in order to increase the capacity of sand I could have in them.
This of course eventually lead to impede my mobility. One particularly clear day, as I stood immobilized in my small mountain of sand, I became aware that I had forgotten my SPF65 sunblock, and soon the smell of my own searing flesh overpowered the bliss of so much sand. Through the sunstroked haze, I became aware that I was encircled by small sea creatures--crabs, sand fleas and and various other aquatic arthropods--all creeping toward me while gulls of all kinds were swooping down to feed, probably hoping for my consciousness to fade so they could start with the tender eyeballs, as scavengers are wont to do.
I fled screaming, an imperiled man, lobster red on top and pasty white waist down from being buried in the sand that now seemed so abhorrent.
To this day my sand phobia is such that I cannot bear to even have a grain in my shoe without resorting to a compulsive foot washing ritual that lasts for hours, puntuated by needing periodic hits off of my calming inhaler.
(That would be my best possible Martin Sargeant.)
As I walked on the beach, people would stare in alarm at my swim trunks, which looked like a conspicously overloaded diaper. In time I found myself buying ever larger swim trunks in order to increase the capacity of sand I could have in them.
This of course eventually lead to impede my mobility. One particularly clear day, as I stood immobilized in my small mountain of sand, I became aware that I had forgotten my SPF65 sunblock, and soon the smell of my own searing flesh overpowered the bliss of so much sand. Through the sunstroked haze, I became aware that I was encircled by small sea creatures--crabs, sand fleas and and various other aquatic arthropods--all creeping toward me while gulls of all kinds were swooping down to feed, probably hoping for my consciousness to fade so they could start with the tender eyeballs, as scavengers are wont to do.
I fled screaming, an imperiled man, lobster red on top and pasty white waist down from being buried in the sand that now seemed so abhorrent.
To this day my sand phobia is such that I cannot bear to even have a grain in my shoe without resorting to a compulsive foot washing ritual that lasts for hours, puntuated by needing periodic hits off of my calming inhaler.
(That would be my best possible Martin Sargeant.)
posted by Rev at 6:41 AM
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