beach times and a tale of lost flip-flops

I never really liked the beach. It was so sandy, and there was all that sun. During college, I went to the beach often, but mostly because my favorite donut shop was right in front of it. That’s when I liked it the best, when it was dark and quiet. I would sometimes go there when I was looking for clarity, it became my little Imperial airport, except it was.. you know, a beach.

After living in Utah for almost a year, I’ve found myself craving more than just that quiet spot. I wanted some sun, and maybe even some sand. I suggested that we stop by the beach after going to Sprinkles on our way down to visit my family. This used to be one of our favorite dates before we got married.






dat dimple



– – –

On Saturday, our last full day in California, we decided to go to the beach, like, actually go to the beach, swimsuits and all.

I chose to forget that it was 4th of July weekend, and that the beach would be packed. As we were looking for parking, we heard a crash coming from one of the clothing stores that we were driving by. We both looked over and saw a guy on his bike, picking something up off the floor. An annoyed employee walked out of the store and helped him pick up a mannequin that was now missing its limbs. Guy on bike handed the employee the left arm, and then the right, while the employee put the arms back in place and shook her head. It was clearly not her first time reassembling the mannequin, and it was also pretty much the best thing I’ve ever seen.

 After the mannequin incident, we spent another hour looking for parking, and even took the ferry to another beach, all in hopes of a parking spot.


this one’s for Coco’s baby book: Coco’s first ferry ride

As it turns out, the other beach was packed too.



Like, really packed.

We parked our towel about six inches away from someone else’s towel and went into the ocean. From the water, I watched our towel spot like a hawk, mostly because the last time we were at the beach, my flip-flops mysteriously disappeared. They were those  $2 Old Navy flip-flops, and I’d had them for years. I’m sure someone just thought they were theirs, slipped their feet into them, and walked back to their car without a care in the world. Well, I had to walk to the car barefoot, and I was determined not to let that happen again.

After being in the (cold) water for less than an hour and almost coming in contact with a dead jellyfish, we both looked at each other and decided it was time to go home. We weren’t wearing sunscreen anyway. My flip-flops were still sitting obediently by our towel. They had obviously listened as I told them, “Don’t get stolen,” from across the beach.

Moral of the story: Don’t go to the beach on 4th of July weekend. Just don’t.


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