You Should Have Been Here Yesterday

In anticipation of our family beach trip, everyone had taken time the night before to set aside something special they wanted to take with them. My husband grabbed his Beach Boys CD; my oldest only wanted his phone; my middle child had a plastic shark fin attached to his head; my daughter grabbed her sand pail in hopes of catching critters; and I had artfully applied my spray tan in a conscience commitment to minimizing my sun exposure.

The next day we were on our way and we stopped to pick up my mother en route. She immediately commented on my beautiful tan saying, “I’m not sure if all that artificial pigment is good for you. In twenty years they will probably discover it’s more hazardous to your health than ultraviolet rays.” She noticed the enviable depth of color I had achieved and said, “Is it possible to overdose on that stuff? What happens if you absorb too much?”

My youngest two stared at me with wide eyed excitement, wondering what a fake tan overdose might actually look like.

“The more I absorb the darker I get, that’s all. Besides, I think my tan looks perfect and with the promise of ‘coverage until removed with soap, I can engage in my usual activities with confidence’,” I said quoting the back of the bottle.

After four bathroom breaks and one fruit stand stop, we finally arrived. Our trek to find the perfect spot to set up was a labor-some ordeal that left me a little overheated. But then there was the ocean with its refreshing breeze and cool water calling me.

I stepped into the tide and was turning to wave at my family when I was knocked down without warning by a wall of water I never saw coming. Suddenly, flashing before my eyes were fleeting images of my children eating nothing but Cocoa Puffs and Hamburger Helper. This gave me the strength to fight for my life. I was tossed so violently by the wave I rolled onto the beach like Cleopatra unfurling from her rug to meet Julius Caesar. I struggled to stand, entangled by kelp, as my daughter gushed loudly, “Oh, Mommy, you look just like a mermaid!”

I had enough sand in my bikini top to increase my bust line by a full cup size – too bad it was probably on my back.

As my husband pulled me up out of the water, I realized not everything had survived the ordeal, as was apparent by the blotchy remnants of my spray tan.

“It’s supposed to be water proof,” I said indignantly as my husband escorted me back to our location, “I’m taking it back for a refund.”

“Thank goodness you survived, or I’d be out that eight bucks,” my husband teased me.

“The water didn’t remove your tan; the sand removed your skin,” clarified my mother. “And if you’re not careful those people will send you a bill for an exfoliation.” Smirking, she added, “Of course, you could always take a picture of yourself and email it to their customer service department so they understand the gravity of the situation.”

“Or you can send the picture that he took,” said my daughter pointing to my oldest son.

“Let me see that!” I demanded grabbing the phone from him. “Where am I?” I asked looking at a picture of the waves.

“In that one, you’re still under the water,” said my oldest son. He advanced to the next picture and zoomed in to a close up of me lifting my head out of a pool of seaweed. I looked just like Medusa.

“You look just like Ariel,” cooed my daughter happily.

In a matter of minutes, I was fully clad and able to put the whole ordeal behind me. We spent the rest of the day enjoying each other’s company and the beauty of our surroundings; and only once did we have to chase our fugitive umbrella down the beach. By the time we were ready to leave, the kids had actually gotten me to agree to put my Medusa picture in the family album.

As we started to pack up and leave, my daughter asked if she could take home the sand crabs that she had been accumulating since our arrival.

“Maybe we should leave them here with their families,” I suggested. “Don’t you think they would be happier that way?”

My daughter reluctantly approached the water and generously released her day’s catch. As she slowly began to retreat backwards saying her goodbyes, a flock of sand pipers swooped down with practiced precision and devoured them, to everyone’s horror.

“That is why time is of the essence,” remarked my Mother decidedly.

My daughter’s head dropped to her chest as she began to cry. I picked her up to comfort her, and as she threw her arms around my neck, I winced in pain from my newly discovered sun burn.