Have you ever judged how good a day was by how badly you hurt later that night? When I woke this evening, from an absolutely critical three-hour nap, still full from lunch, on fire from the armpits up, I knew today had been a winner. Now I am showered, thankful for microfiber and cotton knit, braless by necessity, exhausted still, and so, so happy. Even after using the oil-infused super conditioner, the only way I could get a brush through my hair was to spray leave-in conditioner everywhere. I'm not sure I own enough aloe vera gel to make my shoulders and neck stop burning. Time is the only cure for the first beach sunburn of the year.
Two years ago, we were spending so many Sunday mornings at the beach, we started referring to it as "church." It was glorious and indulgent and spiritual all at the same time. We always spent a couple of hours intimately in touch with the salt water from whence we all came, and then got the hell off the beach before the mass influx of tourists clogged the roads. Last year, we didn't go nearly as often, but we went a few times. This year, I hadn't made it out a single time until today, and even then, I wasn't sure I would make it. I'm turning into such a vampire, transitioning my waking hours to overnight, so I can communicate in real time with the man, and sleeping late in the mornings. I have been avoiding the sun, for the most part, as well. But I believed my friends when they said today would be epic, and my faith in them was rewarded. It was epic, and more. Strong thunderstorms blew through as I was meeting them this morning, and cloud cover remained for hours after, keeping the temperatures down. The seas were calm, and the water was neither brisk nor uncomfortably warm. It was heaven. We all spend more time in the gentle waves than out of it, which is my preferred method of beach-worship. And we all wore out at right around the same time, ready to walk the few blocks from the beach to our new (as of today) favorite restaurant. I don't know whose idea it was to come to this different spot, but we all agreed the switch was brilliant.
For the drive down, our driver kept the top up on her recently-acquired convertible. I didn't think anything of it. On the way back, after swimming and an incredible meal (the last time we all ate this noisily and happily in public, we were moaning in ecstasy over dinner at Husk), we put the top down. I hadn't ridden in a convertible in years, and did not think to plan ahead. There is a reason all the classic movies show women wearing scarves in open cars. I, on the other hand, was grateful for the spiral bobby pins keeping most of my hair back, and wishing my bangs were already grown out. It was all I could do to keep my eyes open at highway speeds, even with the borrowed aviators that made me look like Hunter S Thompson. We were three-quarters of the way home, when suddenly it got about 20 degrees cooler, and noticeably less sunny. I turned to the cowboy sitting next to me in the back of the car and said, "We're going to get wet, aren't we?" He pointed out the wall of water that I couldn't fully see without prescription lenses, and and assured me we were. At first, we were laughing about it, acting like we were just heading down Splash Mountain together. It stopped being cute about thirty seconds later, when the heavens opened and soaked us. We pulled over an exit too soon, just so we could get the top back up. Not even a deluge could dampen our spirits, though. Today was one of those special days that you hold on to, and pull out years later, whenever you need a lift. It was heaven.
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