The weekend getaway is over and everyone survived. It wasn't even as bad as I thought it would be, the house was big enough that no couples or singles had to share beds or rooms with another.
As usual I ate too damned much, and of course my poor albino chicken legs are extra crispy now and a lovely shade of pinkish red. Two applications of SPF-30 and I still fry. It looks like I'm going to be walking a bit funny for a couple days but I'll survive.
I still have no real love for going to the beach, nor do I understand the fascination with it shared by so many people. I get bored with it after a couple of hours. Maybe if I lived there and had my own beach it'd be different. The sound of the ocean is pretty relaxing but all the people and noise ruin it. Or maybe I'm just too antisocial.
