At a Beach

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A short story about how I ended up in my thong, frantically picking needles out of my leggings while my little brother stood watch.


 

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We went to Playa Vista a few days ago and it kind of reminded me (like only kind of honestly) of the Monterosso coast and all the rest of em you know? I was a bit groggy right off the bat though, as I tend to get in a car and pass out regardless of the fact that I would actually rather be looking out the window or reading a book instead of being a large, drooling sloth in the backseat that moans and groans while climbing out the creaky 100 yr old SUV.

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This family says we’re going on “hikes” way too frequently and these hikes can range from ridiculous 10-hour hikes (one of which I wore Converse + an AA tennis dress and frolicked around the mountains with the cows and their poos and quite a few intense Swiss hikers staring at my unsupportive yet highly effective hiking attire) or this hike, which I don’t think constitutes as a hike as we started by walking downhill to the beach (~1 minute if you don’t stop to take pictures like we did) and ended with a small set of stairs to get back to the main street where my father was dutifully waiting to pick us up with aforementioned 100 yr old SUV.

I think it must be a language barrier — Sophie, my psycho Swiss godmother, always says we’re going on “une marche”, which I think just translates to “walk”, but in French it means walk and hike (I’m pretty sure) so it’s really always arbitrary.

But I digress. I would have been better off in that Converse + AA tennis dress outfit for this “hike” (as opposed to the aforementioned long hike that should actually be called “a really long fucking hike that hurts and is completely uphill the entire time and no one gave us any warning that we were going to be on the goddamn mountain for 10 hours with only bread, cheese and beer to keep us going”), as I decided it would be a great idea to lie in what I would soon find out to be really tiny painful wheat-lookalike needles that implant themselves into running pants, never to leave again.

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Moral of the story, I posted this highly unflattering photo of myself just to remember that right after it was taken, I took off the leggings and stood in my thong while Alex watched guard so I could attempt to get the needles out (I was wildly unsuccessful). They still hurt me but I must carry on.