I hate the beach.
There. I said it. Go fire up your torches, raise up your pitchforks, brandish your SPF 70 and batter down the door of my sandcastle, for I have writ the inconceivable and must be consumed by fire.
Overly dramatic? Perhaps; however, it’s a far cry more tame than the courtesies my friends and family extend whenever I choose to sit inside and work (or, as they know it, “play on the computer”) instead of going down to the beach and sitting in the sun. I can’t help it: I’ve stopped liking the beach. I can’t seem to enjoy wrenching myself away from the work that I love and want to do to sit in an uncomfortable, aluminum-plastic excuse for a lounge, cover myself in oily, glistening, ineffective protection and get sand on, and in, absolutely everything. I’m not bashing it: The beach just isn’t my thing.
With that said, the crux of this article rests on the following fact: I love vacationing on the beach.
I can hear the cacophony of a million eyebrows furrowing in unison. Settle down, kids. I’m about to explain myself. Using words.

