Okay, there was the small matter of the girls apparently having to be rescued from the rip current, unbeknownst to us, but that's what lifeguards are for, right?
The beach had been crowded when we arrived, but by the time we began to think about packing up to head over for a bite, the population was sparse although the day was still bright. Beth left for about 5 minutes to bring her car into the now half vacant lot, and I stayed with the offspring and my book and my bev. It was quiet.
I heard and saw a large family come over the berm to the vast expanse of sandy beachfront. The first person set her chair down a respectable distance from Beth's and my chairs (weird grammar alert). As the other members of this large, noisy family joined the matriarch, they set up to the side of her. They all set up on one side of her. On the side between her chair and mine.
It was a little weird, but whatever. People are weird. I was leaving soon anyway, so I just noticed with interest as each person came and set their stuff closer and closer to me.
You're probably thinking that I'm a beach snob, they weren't *that* close, there's plenty of room on the beach for all of us. And there is. There is plenty of room on the beach, even on the most crowded of days.
It takes a bit of finesse to set up on a crowded day, you want to find the sweet spot that is not obscured by anyone's dumb umbrella or oblivious seagull attracting litter repository. And of course, always, you've got to respect the boundaries of beach etiquette. Don't get all up in someone's space, and don't let your kids walk on their towels. It's beach gospel.
So maybe you think I'm being a snob, assuming that they weren't all THAT close.
Lucky for both of us, I took photos.
The tan chair is mine.
And the beach was not crowded.
|Beth is on the close side of her blue chair, my tan chair is on the other side.|
Boundaries, people. Beach boundaries.