The Wide Angle June/July 1996 Volume 1 No 7

My Day at the Beach

(c) 1995.

by Suzanne Szames.

BEACH...the word was enough to make me run in terror. After all, people would be seeing... AAAHHHHHHHHH!...SKIN! And lots of FAT skin at that...gasp! I don't know the reason that I agreed to go the beach that day. Maybe because it was such a beautiful day. Maybe because I would be in the enemy camp with my boyfriend, who thought every inch of me was luscious. Maybe it was just time to conquer that demon. Who knows. I went.

So there we were at the beach, stripped down to our bathing suits, doing the sunscreen thing. I lay down for some serious sun bathing while he went into the surf. The ocean breeze caressed my body. The sun warmed my skin. I'm talking serious sun-worship here! Later I walked on the shore to get my feet wet, as he went body surfing. It was nice. No one was staring. No rude "whale on the beach" comments. None of my worse fears were realized. I thought, why had I waited so long to do this?

Then, BAAAAAM! I didn't even see the wave that knocked me off balance. I tried to get up, but I couldn't get a foothold; the sand kept moving beneath my feet. The next wave knocked me back down AND I fell out of my bathing suit top. I was trying to tuck myself back into the bathing suit and stand up when the next wave knocked me down, turned me on my stomach and washed me ashore. I was even more shocked when the undertoe dragged me back out to sea. I was being tossed back and forth for awhile. My breasts were red from being scraped on the ocean bottom. My boyfriend came to my rescue just as the lifeguard showed up. Still, no one stared. No rude whale comments.

I sat down on the sand and waited for him to finish playing in the water. I brushed off the sand, trying to pretend that nothing UNUSUAL had just happened. Maybe no one but the lifeguard noticed. Maybe everyone at the beach was hearing impaired and missed my boyfriend screaming "YOUR BOOBS ARE HANGIN' OUT!". It could happen!

It wasn't until we returned to our towel that I realized that I was a sand bag. My bathing suit was full of sand. Putting my cover-up on to be as inconspicuous as possible, I attempted to free myself of as much of the stuff as I could. I dug, and dug...treasure! It is amazing how much sand, pebbles and shells one bathing suit can hold. If I was out there any longer I might have caught our lunch! Still no one stared...until...my boyfriend insisted that I get on my knees so he could dig the rest of the sand out of the bathing suit. There I was on all fours with him behind me scooping debris from my suit. Quite a sight! I don't think that the spectacle had anything to do with the young family near us packing up and leaving. They probably didn't notice. Maybe they just had enough sun. It could happen!

What are the chances of being knocked down and around by the waves; falling out of your bathing suit; a lifeguard coming to save you; being totally breaded with sand, shells and pebbles; AND someone up to his elbows digging sand out of your bathing suit? I wouldn't have believed it before, but now? It could happen!

You are probably asking yourself if I'm willing to go back to the beach? Let me tell you, I'm not running! But, not for the reason you might think. You see, I've developed this fear of sand.

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