Everyone have a good Memorial Day weekend? Remember to think of those who died bravely defending the country? I thought not. Don’t worry, I forgot too. I was having too much fun at the beach.

Normally, I decline to drive down during Memorial Day weekend, as the beaches are mobbed with sun worshippers eager to get a head start on their tans, however, as my parents were going anyway and invited my brother and me along, I decided, “Hey! Free room!” and agreed to go to the beach.

And by beach, of course, I’m referring to the Delaware beaches (Fenwick, Dewey, although not so much Rehoboth as there aren’t many ladies there), or Ocean City. And by Ocean City, of course, I mean Maryland, and not New Jersey, because no one in their right mind goes to Jersey to relax.

When I was younger, the entire family, including my aunt and uncle, my cousin, and my grandparents would spend two weeks in Ocean City at the end of each summer, so this was pretty fun to be able to sort of relive that with my parents.

We spent the days with the ‘rents, and the nights with some friends, listening to bands and swigging beers, happy for the preponderance of elbow room.

People were probably right to stay away because of the weather. Although it didn’t rain much. Except for a few moments when the sun managed to peak out, the sky remained choked with clouds for the entire weekend.

Saturday was the only day we spent on the beach. And we were practically the only people on the beach. There we sat, bundled up in windbreakers, sweatshirts, and blankets carrying on like it was any other summer day, angling our faces to the sky to try to catch some hint of color, while enjoying the rhythmic pounding of the surf against the eroding beach.

Somehow, I managed to get a little sunburned. Since I stopped lifeguarding during the summers midway through college, when I would develop a dark, rich tan, my skin has instead preferred to go from white to red, foregoing the tanning stage, and going directly to the burning stage.

The only other person on the beach was an awkward 13-year-old boy wearing glasses and a wetsuit trying to use a skimboard in a tide pool.

I don’t know what it is about being at the beach that makes me feel the need to shed shoes in favor of flip-flops. Must be the salt air. Even though it was a brisk 55°F, I paraded around in shorts and flip-flops. And at night, jeans and flip-flops. I would never do that at home. And it just sucked to come home and put on socks and shoes this morning.

The hotel room was okay. It wasn’t nice, and it wasn’t ghetto. It was a great price, and since all we needed it for was a bed anyway, who cares? However the beds were weird. And by weird, I mean, well, weird. They weren’t uncomfortable, however, every time I would shift positions while trying to sleep, it sounded as if someone was muscling a balloon animal into submission.

Summary: had a good time, it was cold, I drank way too much while eating way too little, and everything is always good when your parents are footing the bill.

Oh! And by the way, DayQuil also doubles as a cure for diarrhea. Don’t ask.

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