85. Just the three of us.

It-wasn't-me-100-x-100I took an early morning walk today.

My plan was to stride it out on the beach, get my heart rate up a little, then make a rare appearance at the pool – which would be empty but for me star fishing in the middle of it. This was a good plan.

But I wasn’t alone was I.

No. There were some lovebirds up already. A Spanish pair in their late twenties, not matching. And they were very busy digitally preserving this holiday forever, or at least for today’s Facebook feed. It was a pretty intense scene. They were art directing a full on fashion shoot. But without the fashion. Or the talent.

She has expensive bowling ball boobs and the requisite dyed blond hair. She had a great body, although she was going to have to watch it thickening through the middle at a later date. While it was not quite seven, she was bikinied and oiled like a petit poulet about to be skewered for the rotisserie. He was a nerd who couldn’t believe his luck. His baggy shirt wasn’t voluminous enough to hide the evidence of his love for a good burrito.

Then another couple turned up. Same deal. No swimming, no laughing, no flirting. Just a whole lot of digital self love. Readers Wives. Without the bits.

Bowling ball girl spent a lot of time sitting precariously on the side of the pool, the very thin side of the pool, arching her back and pointing her toes like she’d practiced in front of the mirror at home many many times before.

To be honest, neither of the couples really looked like they were having a great time. There was a lot to be present for, but it seemed to me there was more energy going into ‘I was there’ than in actually being there.

I tried to keep out of their way. Honest, I did. Well I tried a wee bit. But, you know, they were going for a lot of coverage. Like A Lot.

And then I thought it could be quite funny to appear in some of these shots with my crazy red hair (the salt water really does some special things to it, I lose all control) and my impossible curves and my blue and white polka dot bikini, drifting through scene after scene.

So rather than attempt to avoid them, I thought I’d just stay in my own moment, and if my moment was directly behind / to the side / in front of theirs, so be it.

What fun.

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