Sam trudged through the sand, the grains assaulting his ankles. Thin flipflops protected the bottom of his feet while the big toes battled the long ones for social separation from the lesser digits.
He stopped, made a show of dropping chairs, cooler, and umbrella, and called to his spouse. “We’re here, Lana.”
Absorbed in her latest romance novel, his wife missed the warning and back-ended Sam, who toppled onto the white solar-heated quartz.
He grabbed a beach towel, stuffed the end into his mouth, and mumbled something that implied maternal intimacy.
“Sorry, Sam.” She looked around. “You know there are better spots.”
Removing the towel, he took a breath, and started setting up their afternoon residence. Lana picked up her turbochair, made sure the cup holder, book pocket, reading light, and overhead awning were sand-free, and sat, resuming her literary adventure.
---
The umbrella slid into the sand only after Sam applied his full weight. Lana repositioned herself for full protection, leaving her husband scraps of less- effective shade. He found a beer disguised as a vitamin water, and flopped onto his metal and plastic Lazyboy for the day.
“Sam, Fudgy Wudgy Man at three o’clock,” Lana called out.
He turned quickly and collapsed, chair and all, onto the solar surface. “Just kidding,” she laughed. Sam threw the towel over his head and muttered, not appreciating the joke.
“Now, Sam, loosen up. It’s a lovely day, the water looks calm, and we have nowhere else to be. Put on some sunscreen, and take a little snooze.”
---
Sam woke up, fully exposed to the flames of heat bearing down on the beach. Lana, comfortable in shade, looked over her husband. “Shudda moved, Sam. Hey, lookit your feet.”
He examined the area he missed with the Coppertone. Both extremities were pink on the front and toes. He opened another vitamin water and chugged.
Lana leaned back and closed her eyes. “Isn’t this fun, Sam. Don’t you wish we could do this every day?”
He stopped, made a show of dropping chairs, cooler, and umbrella, and called to his spouse. “We’re here, Lana.”
Absorbed in her latest romance novel, his wife missed the warning and back-ended Sam, who toppled onto the white solar-heated quartz.
He grabbed a beach towel, stuffed the end into his mouth, and mumbled something that implied maternal intimacy.
“Sorry, Sam.” She looked around. “You know there are better spots.”
Removing the towel, he took a breath, and started setting up their afternoon residence. Lana picked up her turbochair, made sure the cup holder, book pocket, reading light, and overhead awning were sand-free, and sat, resuming her literary adventure.
---
The umbrella slid into the sand only after Sam applied his full weight. Lana repositioned herself for full protection, leaving her husband scraps of less- effective shade. He found a beer disguised as a vitamin water, and flopped onto his metal and plastic Lazyboy for the day.
“Sam, Fudgy Wudgy Man at three o’clock,” Lana called out.
He turned quickly and collapsed, chair and all, onto the solar surface. “Just kidding,” she laughed. Sam threw the towel over his head and muttered, not appreciating the joke.
“Now, Sam, loosen up. It’s a lovely day, the water looks calm, and we have nowhere else to be. Put on some sunscreen, and take a little snooze.”
---
Sam woke up, fully exposed to the flames of heat bearing down on the beach. Lana, comfortable in shade, looked over her husband. “Shudda moved, Sam. Hey, lookit your feet.”
He examined the area he missed with the Coppertone. Both extremities were pink on the front and toes. He opened another vitamin water and chugged.
Lana leaned back and closed her eyes. “Isn’t this fun, Sam. Don’t you wish we could do this every day?”