Not knowing quite what to do with myself on a recent hot (hot!) afternoon, I joined the migration down Memorial, past Dunkin Donuts — iced coffee is de rigueur on such occasions — to First Beach.
Once there, I walked for a while, sipped for a while, watched girls little and big enjoy water and waves for a while. Then I plopped myself down on the sand (on a towel) and settled into some sort of semi-snooze state. Not even caffeine can keep me from drifting into that warm, semi-oblivious, where-does-the-time-go, quintessentially beachy state of mind ...
So I was half-asleep, with my ear to the sand, amid all the sights, sounds and don't forget smells of summer (ah, seaweed), when I heard the scrunch of footsteps not far from own feet and some sort of riveting conversation about seahorses. Red seahorses.
I opened my eyes just in time to see the seahorses in question walk past in the company of three (count 'em, three) pairs of short shorts. The seahorse-wearer was rising to the occasion of those teasing him by saying, "I have another pair. Light blue with green turtles. But they have a big hole in the crotch ... "
Excuse me?!? What a thing to say in mixed company.
Then again, I guess it's no big deal. One must relax (stay cool? go with the flow?) about such things. 'Tis the season ...
