New Englanders are whack. We went to the beach with cousin Dutchie and her parents up in Rye, New Hampshire. Now as a Floridian, I have my own idea of what a beach should look like. These New England strips of sand next to a murky navy-colored ocean are quite pleasant, but they do not a beach make. My family disagrees with me. Perhaps because they are all whacked New Englanders.
We’ve been in the midst of a heat wave, with temperatures in the upper 90s, with lots of “feels like 104” days. So the sand was broiling. But I happily plopped myself in a beach chair and chatted with my sister-in-law. Pie dove into the ocean, with Doodles fast on her heels. Their uncle followed them. They boogie boarded and threw water at each other, and swam and frollicked and enjoyed the swim.
After about a half our, I’m sweating, so I decide to try out the water. My sister-in-law insures me, “It’s warm today.” Well I should hope so given the full week of 90+ degree weather.
Freakin’ new Englanders. I put my feet in the water and run out screeching. The ocean was the temperature of ice water. Ice water that I would drink on one of these 99 feels like 104 days and have to put it down to warm up because it was giving me an ice headache. Seriously, that water felt like it had just melted from snow. While I will admit that I fit into this list more than I would care to admit, this crazed attempt at pretending the water is warm just proves to me yet again that I am a Miami Beach girl at heart.
New Englanders are whacked. One might even say, wicked whacked. Brrrr.
