The rolling waves, the clean, soft sand, the briny wind and lazy, drifting clouds–it all presents the perfect locale for a romantic scene.
Like Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster in From Here to Eternity, or Amanda Seyfried and Channing Tatum in Dear John, the romanticism of the beach can wash over one like waves on the shore (cliched pun intended.)
So, my hubby and I decided to take a nice stroll along the beach in the moonlight. Hand in hand, we wandered along the water’s edge as the gentle waves lapped at our feet.
And sand birds swooped in after the tiny creatures washing ashore in the water.
And shells scraped against the skin of my feet.
And I held in shrieks every time seaweed touched me.
And the water made my skin sticky.
And the drunk people on the beach celebrated too loudly.
And I got paranoid about sting-rays and crabs in the shallows because we had seen some earlier in the day.
And sand blew in my face.
And I watched for jelly-fish washing up on shore.
So much for the moment.
I can appreciate the beauty and majesty of God’s creation when looking out over the rolling ocean or the moon reflecting upon the water. I’m not inhuman, but…
All my life, I’ve been a fair-weather friend of the beach. (I know that there are some of you who don’t want to be my friend anymore.)
I like the atmosphere of being at the beach, but I only actually like being on the beach for a few minutes, and then I’m done.
There are creatures in the water. Don’t tell me there aren’t–I’ve seen them. And I’m not a fan of creatures.
The waves can get really strong and it freaks me out–I don’t want my kids getting sucked out.
Sand is the most annoying substance on earth. It gets EVERYWHERE. Eating on the beach inevitably means ingesting at least a pound of sand, so a picnic is kind of out. And sand has a habit of traveling home with you. I’m still finding it in our house.
And since it’s a true fact that my nickname is Pale Hale, the sun and I aren’t exactly buddies. SPF 900 has to be reapplied about every 10 minutes for me to avoid looking like a lobster.
“Now I know why you like those vampire books,” my husband said to me as I sat on a blanket and watched my boys frolic in the water. “You look like you’re about to burst into flames.”
I ignored his snarky comments because I was measuring the water around my boys’ ankles. Is it deep enough for a shark?
So the whole idea of the beach being a place for a romantic rendezvous is kinda out for me.
When I look at the picture of Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster above, all I can think is, “they’re gonna get sand in some awkward places.”
Share with me: Is there a location that most people consider romantic that you don’t find romantic at all?