So the heat lately has been a bit much, especially for June, which is usually a cool month due to the marine layer that takes most of the morning to burn off. Except the past week has brought no marine layer and 90's and 100's. Not my idea of fun. In times like these, I always wonder why I am not living somewhere like Alaska, where it just isn't so damn warm and sunny ALL THE TIME.
But the heat is just a not-so-clever segue into why we were at the beach yesterday. Beginning after Memorial Day, the beginning of what we SoCal natives like to call "The Stampede of the Wildebeasts" begins. Otherwise known as "tourist season." And as such, we avoid like the plague places where tourists like to gather.
Yet somehow, we found ourselves at Huntington Beach yesterday. With it's pier, beaches, and its insistence on calling itself "Surf City, USA" Huntington Beach gets more than their fair share of out of state visitors. Hubba-hubba had the idea just to walk along the pier, but somehow forgot that we have a three, almost four, year old. And an almost four year old child in no way is amenable to walking on a pier when RIGHT THERE is a vast expanse of golden sand begging to be played with.
Semi-unprepared for a "true" beach visit, Mr. Personality had to make do with a plastic cup and a car for sand toys. Not that he minded in any way. As we eventually made our way down to the water, I noticed for the umpteenth time how easy it is to spot tourists. I can't exactly put my finger on how I am able to spot them in an instant, but I am rarely wrong. Perhaps it is the tennis shoes, or the way they do their hair, or even their clothes.
Our little family was digging for sand crabs and having a mighty good time when I noticed some people posing for a picture in the water. There were five people in the water and one out. I could tell that the person out was also not from here, so I offered to take a picture of all of them. Be quiet, I'm nice like that. I took two, and the owner of the camera, with a twang, called me Ma'am and thanked me kindly.
I walked back over to Hubba-hubba, who looked at me quizzically and said, "We've got to be nice to these Southerners and keep them coming back. Since they're screwing us over on our taxes, we need every last tourist dollar of theirs we can get."
You may think I was joking. But I wasn't.