Summer is fast approaching, and unlike YLM, I do not view this time of year with any kind of giggle or joy. No, to me summer is a hot, humid, stink-hole I am forced to suffer through all the while wrapping myself in my uniform of black -- albeit black short sleeves -- and count the miserable weeks until fall tumbles forward.
Which is why I am actually dreading what should be a lovely invitation that came my way last week -- three days with another mom and her daughter (whom the Rabbit adores) on Fire Island. Three days on the beach, in the sun, reading books on the sand with another mum who is fun and funny....it sounds like hell.
First, I am pale. Not Scarlett Johannson pale. Albino pale. The kind of pale that people stare at your legs and go, 'God, is something wrong?' That kind of pale. And that brings with it all sorts of sun issues like burning. We're talking sunburns the color of cherry tomatoes that appear within 30 minutes.
Then there's the whole beach thing. Sitting on burning sand, squinting and trying to read just doesn't cut it. And god help you if need to find a bathroom. Sorry. But peeing in the ocean? Nope. Not that I think it's wrong....but I just can't do it. Yes, lame, I am sure. But shaming me into action isn't going to work.
Let's not even go down the road about the bathing suit issues or that I will be PMS-ing.
So here's the thing. I am going. I probably won't pack a bathing suit. Shorts I think are just as fine. As is a sunblock with SPF 50. And maybe a hat, some sunglasses, and a silent prayer or two that I don't humiliate myself and alienate a nice friendship with one of the few mamas I don't think of as a (s)mother. Come to think of it, I'm going to try and drum up a valium or two....just for protection.