Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Summer

Laying on my stomach on my cartoon beach towel that I've had for way too long, it feels like it's 100°. Fahrenheit of course, Celsius conversions will forever escape me and I gave up trying awhile ago although that's what they use here.

Of course it's not 100, it's probably not even 90 yet, but something about the humidity in this city kills me. I glance to my left and can literally see those heat wave things coming off of the sand. 

Sweat rolls down my forehead. What I thought was a mid-week beach break treat yo' self was actually just turning into a heat stroke.


Never did I think I would live in a climate that I found to be too hot, to be honest.

I shift again, and a girl in a purple thong bikini catches my eye. It's not out of the ordinary on the beaches of Tel Aviv, but her put-togetherness, her long manicured nails and large floppy beach hat make me overly aware of my disheveled hair and lack of makeup. She kind of looks French.

I wonder if I'll ever muster the courage to wear a thong on the beach, I ponder. Just about anything goes here; speedos are right and left, the less clothing the better it seems. I conclude that there's no point in burning my butt cheeks just to show some more skin.

It's kind of funny, we often get questions from our friends and family (particularly those planning to visit), "Do I need to cover up more? Do I need to wear pants? Should I buy a one piece?"

No. In Tel Aviv at least, you should do the exact opposite. You will see just about anything and everything; nothing shocks me anymore after walking up and down the beach for almost a year now.

I shift from my stomach to lay on my back, and make the mistake of putting my feet on the burning sand, quickly correcting it by burrowing my feet underneath. The breeze feels great, and I consider for a second actually going into the sea. Until I remember the warning from friends that it's jellyfish season, for at least another week.


Yeah no thanks.

To my left there's an old man whose a deep shade of brown that my ethnicity will never allow me to reach. I wonder how he's asleep when we are basically sitting on the sun. I'm jealous of his beer next to him.

We need more post-it notes, I remember to myself. Post-it notes are one of my odd loves in life; actually, making lists on them is. It was on my list today to try to find more post-its, and some cheap plates. You know what I mean - everyone needs at least a few crappy plates that you and your husband can easily chuck into the microwave/into the dishwasher/onto the floor without worrying about damaging them. Our old ones from the Target dollar section were getting disgusting.


Oh Target, I miss you. #2 behind Trader Joes.

I should probably wander down Allenby Street before heading back home to get some work done, and see if I can find a store that sells both post-its and plates together. Odds are low, which is why we now just order roughly 75% of things we need off of Amazon - even if we have to wait a week for it.

I stand up and immediately slip on my Birks to get my feet off the sand. Maybe I should stop at the juice stand on my way, in order to avoid heat exhaustion on my mile-long walk home? Sounds like a plan.

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