This is where I want to be today, more than anything. I want to wake up already pink from the heat in a bungalow on the beach, sweating, smiling. I want a breakfast of blended drinks and fruit, and my husband on the porch, skin rough-textured from the sun. I want to hear the movements of the people in bungalows nearby, unhurried, unspecific. I want the first thing my feet touch to be wood, the second to be sand, the third to be bright, hot shore water.
I’m not much of a beach person. In fact, I avoid the beach all summer while my friends make desperate scrambles to get there, cars crammed with umbrellas, mats, towels and folding chairs.
Today, though, I think there’s a benefit to be had from a proper beach vacation, from the slow, drunk thoughtlessness, from the heat. I’m in the mood for that warm, comfortable nothing.