Sometimes life decides to do funny things to you. There you are, sitting peacefully on your sunbed, straw hat in place, sunglasses with double UV protection on your eyes, having applied appropriate amounts on sunblock on all extremities and adjusted your umbrella for maximum shelter and just about settling back with a nice banal chicklit, when voila a kind of wave that would make Hawaiin surfers orgasmic, rushes in and picks you and sunbed up and deposits you, gobsmacked in the midst of the shrubbery at the far end of the beach. With a mouthfull of sand so you cant even yell at said retreating wave with some choice words of endearment. Which of course, said wave wouldnt understand. It would be out there, chuckling quietly, zeroing in on its next victim. Yes, you with the Gucci beach tote and the matching Pucci print bikini and sarong, it could be you, so stop sneering at my flea market bag.
You then wonder about sunbed placement, and such like. Whether you should have consulted an almanac to check Rahu Kalam before settling self onto sunbed. And whether you should have actually sat inside a shack and downed beer on beer, than put yourself out there, at the mercy of the waves. Who knows, the shark that Richard Dreyfuss or whats his face threw back in Jaws could have been wandering around for a stray morsel. Or maybe, it could have brought in its friends for a buffet.
You wonder whether you should have, when the coin was being tossed on the matter of holiday destinations, queered the toss, and yells heads I win, Tails you lose and chosen the mountains. You start doubting every single decision wrt your life you have taken so far, given that you have ended up, you have ended up tossed up at the far end of the beach, along with stray bottles, assorted cans and such like debris, of such condition that even the raddi wallah would chuck them right into the sea. You wonder if you should learnt swimming and reached some nice deserted island with two palm trees placed strategically to allow for hammock stringing (though lord knows how one was to make a hammock from on deserted island, given one’s total lack of life skills, the maximum level of which is sticking hand out into traffic to hail taxi or auto). You wonder if you can sue the wave. You wonder if you can claim insurance for hurt ego and wounded self esteem. You wonder if you have an invisibility cloak on. You look around to see how folks have noticed and are collapsing around on the ground in various stages of mirth induced convulsions. None have. People around are too engrossed in baking their bodies to burnt wood texture. You have the last laugh. You pick yourself up quietly and move back to the hotel, where you lounge with said chicklit book on a sunbed by the poolside, where the max that can happen is the drinks trolley can run out of control, bang into your sunbed which can then get pushed right into the pool, which will then cause a minor crisis because the many children who are in the pool with their parents will all knock each other out of the way to clamber onto the sinking sunbed, and leave you to sink like the stone you are to the bottom of the pool where you will found bloated and peeling when they decide to drain the pool.
Maybe I should have just sat in my room and read by the window. Maybe I should have just stayed in the womb.