Sizzling Sunburns

You are on a holiday. You are at a tropical place, the weather here is always humid despite the temperature. You did not need to pack any pants or jackets or jumpers, but you did anyway. "Just in case," you convince yourself, because this is how unbelievably tropical this place is - it leaves tourists in disbelief.

You lather on the top-grade sunscreen available in the market at the moment - 50+, it promotes and promises. It is waterproof, sand-proof, everything-proof it seems, except not the sun. But you do not know this yet. Your mind is still in its dreamy state. You are on holiday after all, why would you allow yourself to be bothered in any way? So you believe the packaging of the sunscreen. You immediately put some more on only on some areas, the areas that will be exposed once you are in the water, and you make your way down to the nearest pool of water.

And there you float. You float in serenity. You are feeling so serene that time flies past so fast that you end up spending the entire day in that pool of water. And you are satisfied with this, you are satisfied even though your plans to partake in activities other than floating have gone to waste. But it is fine. You do not mind because you spent the entire hot day keeping cool. You remove yourself from the pool and head back into your hotel. This entire time, you have been smelling something fresh sizzling. Some sort of meat you have yet come across, some amazing meat you are yet to taste.

And so you walk back to the elevator, and enter it, dripping wet. You press the button that takes you up to the fourth floor. While the elevator decides that nobody else wants to enter it, its doors close and you begin reading a poster in the elevator advertising the menu of the restaurant on the bottom floor. All the meat on there seems like something you have already tasted though. The elevator doors open, and you exit to face your room.

While you turn the key, the smell gets much stronger. Now, instead of yearning facial reactions, your stomach begins to respond. It growls. In fact, it growls so loud that you feel guilty for causing a monsoon of hunger. Yet you enter your hotel room regardless, and make your way to your fridge. Surely the cheese and bread you bought from the grocery store will suffice, despite this great smell. Plus, the smell will go away because you are indoors, right?

Wrong. The smell is now stronger than ever. You stare down at your cheese sandwich, so bland and flat, and wish that you had a genie to assist you in acquiring this meat. The smell is so strong that it smells as though you just fried this meat in your kitchen. Against all the temptations, you still ignore it. You make it to the sofa and watch television. Food advertisements come on, and the smell still grows. Now, though, along with the smell, comes an antagonizing pain. You look at the source of pain, your bare shoulders, and mistake them for tomatoes.

Yes. All along, that sizzling smell was you. You were cooking. You panic. How could this be? You put sunscreen on your face, neck, oh, blast! You thought your shoulders would have been totally submerged in water, so you did not deem it necessary for sunscreen to be spread there. Nor on your chest. Shame on you. You drive to Coles, and buy aloe vera gel. You spread it on quickly when you get back to the hotel, forgetting how painful sunburns actually are. So you slow down. You try soothing your cooked cells, and walking around indeed becomes soothing. You feel as though you have icicle mist spraying on your body. And then, bedtime. Your bedsheets suddenly feel like sandpaper.

'Apply sunscreen on your entire body every summer, all summer' you write on a note on your hotel fridge.

Preposterous Portable Pools

Preposterous portable pools prefer to go anything but according to plan – they will in fact plan one thing, and that is to sabotage your best efforts when you attempt to use them to retain a cool body temperature during times which prove it difficult otherwise.

Portable pools are high quality products for a low price. This low price reels the customers in, and they unknowingly purchase this plastic bargain in hopes of using little water and little space when they return home. And that is where things go from relatively normal to utterly disastrous. One should never underestimate, at whatever cost, the amount of water one needs to fill a pool with the capacity of three-thousand and six-hundred litres. One is mistaken to think that this amount of water can come out of a hose at full speed, under ten minutes, the same way that one is mistaken when they read the box and it claims that the total amount of time for preparing the pool and its hoses and filling it with water will only take ten minutes, unless of course one counts in dog years.

Be prepared to soak yourself in drowned, freshly deceased bugs, leaves and the germs of any other member in the pool with you this summer if you invest in a portable ‘family’ pool. Though it is claimed that your entire family can fit and, according to the box, quite comfortably play water games, it is told with complete lies like the story about the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny and Santa Clause that your mother used to fill you with when you were young enough to believe everything you hear. One falls into a trance of total dismay when they realize that half their family members can fit in the pool, especially if one is from a Middle Eastern descent, wherein one swims with a maximum of two other family members, preferably the younger and thinner ones, otherwise one runs the risk of swimming in thick, black Arabian hairs.

From the amount of time it takes to actually construct the pool, the weather will most likely change, dropping around ten degrees Celsius, and it will, depending on your luck, possibly begin to rain. The entirety of the idea of a pool, therefore, becomes quite ludicrous, and one begins to question why they even spent their hard-earned money on a project that has gone to waste like last night’s dinner when it became engrossed in one’s bowel, and soon after, bowel movements.

Above all it is quite upsetting when one plans to do something that does not quite work out as planned, such as an inexperienced camper believing they can, an hour before nightfall, pitch their tent with total ease, and they are proven wrong when a bear comes by and consumes them because they are so angry from failing at pitching their tent that they pay no attention to the big grizzly bear’s rumbling stomach behind them. And they sit in pieces, in the grizzly bear’s pit of a stomach and as they are doused with the stomach chemicals, wonder what went wrong. Well, the fact that they overestimated their, lack of, skills, was what went wrong. And now it is too late to do anything because they are halfway to being totally digested. They have failed, they have been ingested, and now they are digested. They should have thought this plan through a little better before pursuing it. This is the same thing that happens when one purchases a portable pool that claims its readiness is ‘ezy’, and they have had no prior knowledge about pools and how ridiculously difficult they are to create, prepare and maintain.

One can suppose that the only true benefit of a portable pool is the amount of money one saves by not purchasing bug spray, seeing as bugs unwillingly fall into your pool of doom and drown to death. Another possible benefit would be that one finally found something to spend that rotten twenty dollars on, the same twenty dollars that one could not find anything to buy. Other than that, it is not quite advised that one should endeavor on the journey of purchasing a so-called ‘ezy’ portable pool because nothing about it or your painful journey with it actually is ‘ezy’.

Before one rushes to purchase a portable pool, and before they are tempted by the alluringly low price of it, one must realize that it is a terrible mistake to go through with a transaction involving a portable pool, because portable pools are nothing but preposterous.

Silly Straw Hats

Admit it. You love wearing your straw hat wherever you go, whether you are indoors, outdoors, hanging off a balcony or sweating to death in a pit full of humans whilst a live band is playing. This is true, because it is summertime, and though straw hats do appear rather silly when worn in strange times, the fact that it is the hottest season of the year simply excuses you without you having to create excuses for yourself.

Straw hats create a crunching sound when held too hard. I have learnt this the hard way, thus my silly hat made of straw, or so the label states, and made by child exploitation in sweatshop factories, which is for some reason never mentioned on the labels, has a slight crack in the front of it, which makes it even more silly than it currently is, especially when it sits on my head. But nobody notices the crack – they only notice the fact that they forgot their silly straw hats at home, so they stare in envy at the meticulously designed hat, with its beige and tan coloured ribbon sprawled in one neat line around the perimeter of the straw hat. They stare at how well it suits my black and purple hair, and how miraculously well it also suits the clothing I am wearing, which at first glance do not appear to suit anything but myself.

Straw hats have been around ever since the times of knights jousting on majestic horses, kicking rear ends and collecting names. They have barged into our lives, and in doing so, right into the sun’s way, in spite of its best efforts to burn through them. Doing so has proved impossible, and though sun-screen attempts to also assist humans in protecting themselves from the UV radiation from the sun’s beams, straw hats have proved completely immune, and worthy of our attention – for like the original purpose of our authoritative figures, police, they live to serve and protect. It is no wonder that the wealthy in the eighteenth century were accustomed to indulging themselves in the company of a straw hat, for straw hats are a tremendous effort in maintaining a human’s natural complexion.

I stride in the streets quite fond of my appearance underneath my straw hat. Though I appear Bruno Mars-esque, I stride on happily and wear my hair beneath it in a different style, so that my straw hat retains its comfort on my head – a ponytail would be ridiculous for it will sit in the way of my summer protector. I cannot allow anything to cause it mere agitation for its agitation will result in mine also, due to a potential fashion fallout. When I am annoyed from wearing my straw hat, which happens on rare occasions, I simply grasp the front of it lightly and, when removed from my head, place it gently on my laps until I am ready to wear it once more. When I am being driven on a cruise and the windows are down, even though I am not totally affected by the wind, I gently hold down my straw hat with my index finger, leaning my elbow on the car door, to rid myself of the event of having to lose my straw hat – I could not bear to watch it flutter off into the distance like a butterfly on heat.

Upon arriving at home, I straightaway place my straw hat on its own rack behind my bedroom door. It sits patiently, awaiting my next adventure with it – it wonders where we are going next – will it be a vineyard? A music festival? A trip to the beach? A picnic at a state park? There is no telling where the next trip will take the straw hat and I, so its patience serves it justice. I take comfort in the fact that it will wait for me whenever I am ready – it will have prepared itself without me having to ask it to, and I am quite sure that it takes comfort in me, its new owner, and the fact that I confide in it.

In the 1920s, a riot broke out because of an unwritten rule stating that one could not wear a straw hat after the 15th of September in New York – one caught wearing a straw hat would have it removed and stomped to pieces before their eyes, by a member of the public, a youth to be exact. Newspapers of those days had warned the public of the 15^th of September. A group of testing youths decided to, two nights before the alleged ‘no straw hats’ date, confront factory workers, remove their hats and stomp on them. The factory workers, however, had fought back, and a riot was born. These youths became role models for other teenagers, and the nights after the 13^th became disastrous. Teenagers roamed the streets with large sticks with nails at the end, looking for straw hats to clobber. These clobberings led to more riots, and in 1924 a man was killed for wearing one. This tradition, per se, soon became ridiculously boring and was left behind.

Thankfully, in these modern times, we do not have the inessential clobbering of straw hats. Instead, we have the appreciation of them. They have been introduced into our summer fashion ranges, and have been seen as icons of travel and wealthy escapes. They still serve their duties to protect and shelter, and fortunately, people are not clobbered by teenagers if they are seen wearing them. Instead, they are envied, and cause teenagers to try to adapt the hats into their own fashion senses, in an attempt to lure members of the opposite or same sex in.

When you wear your straw hat next, assuming you own one, please treat it with the care that it provides for you. Though it is inanimate, it will most likely feel threatened if you make it feel unwelcome. It is your fashion statement, wear it with pride and stride through esplanades – who knows what luck your straw hat will bring you? Just remember to stray from teenagers with long sticks and nails, perhaps the fashion of clobbering straw hats will someday return.

Horrid Humidity

Humidity takes a juicy, bright red apple and turns it into a bitter, withered lemon. It takes a pool of cool water and turns it into hot sand.

Most days, I am affixed to my duties: wake up, dress up, drink coffee, immerse in conversations about the complexity of simple-minded people with my mother, have breakfast, read. I sometimes run a few errands for my parents. I do all these with ease and haste. No problems confront me, everything is as smooth as a yacht on an oily, calm seabed on a warm summer's day.

However, when my dear fiend, humidity, comes along, my soul dispels all hope of completing my daily tasks and I am figuratively dragged down to the floor, where I wither and waste away what could have been a perfectly positive and productive day.

My otherwise pale face takes on a shade of amber, and I appear as though I have been sleepless for three centuries. I end up looking like a hungry vampire, imprisoned in cobblestone-covered walls inside a dungeon, shied away from the moonlight or the ability to feast on fresh blood. I become lifeless, almost worthless, and I sweat away whatever fluids I had consumed prior to the attack of horrid humidity.

I become sluggish. Moving, in itself, becomes a task. It becomes one difficult to pursue, to undertake. To have me moving whilst under the attack of humidity should be deemed miraculous - if I had a choice of being burnt alive, no wait, I would not choose that. Humidity is not all that bad, but it is rather horrid. The only reasons behind any movement on a humid day would be to acquire water, and after that acquire more water. Some movement also goes to the acquisition of ice-cream. Though, gelato is rather preferable - orange flavored gelato.

In complaining about humidity though, I think back on those winter nights where I wished summer was back. I think back on driving with the windows up and three jackets on, and wishing for summer to return so that I could wind the windows down, and turn the music up. I was wrong with the thought of feeling the breeze in my hair in the duration of this though, because now, with this humidity, my hair is so limp and frizzy that a biscuit dipped in coffee can stand straighter. Now I wish that winter would return. And when it does, and brings with it the flu, I will wish again for humidity to visit - it's a constant cycle.

With humidity, though, I surprisingly feel comfort. I have not yet grown out of feeling as though if I slept uncovered, a monster would reach for my foot and pull me away from safety. Humidity acts like a blanket. I do not need to be covered by my quilt because I am blanketed by an invisible layer of utter heat, a sweaty, sticky force-field that the Boogeyman would dare not even attempt to penetrate. This not only annoys me, but it also comforts me - and my parents, for that matter, for they view my possible suitors, even though they would not dare enter my room seeing as I am fathered by the epitome of the Hulk, as Boogeymen. Chances are that if what humidity does to my otherwise silky, smooth, clean body, scares off monsters, it will also scare off those men. In most ways, therefore, humidity keeps me celibate.

Humidity eliminates monsters, men, cleanliness, sleep and dignity. It resuscitates insomnia, and creates sudden deadly mood swings. It turns my head of hair into the likeness of a  Sasquatch's pubic hair. However, I prefer it more than I prefer the misery that is winter, because until I find another lonesome soul, winter will be unenjoyable, in the same way that having a spouse in humid times makes one uneasy.

Lowered Cars in the Summertime

One must never undermine the prowess of a man with a lowered car and his attempts of attracting women with the use of that car in the summertime around the beach, when most of the women that are out walking by the beach and the roadstrip in which he rides are excessively confident with their appearance, simply because their physical appearance resembles something that is meant to reel in excessive confidence. For a man with a lowered car cannot be reckoned with, because of the magnitude of attraction coming out of the car's hood.

A man with a lowered car holds a heightened ego and this alone proves that he is a righteous suitor for whomever he pleases. He need not grow a moustache for the acquiring of sophistication, for his sophistication is simply acquired from the gentle hum of his lowered car's exhaust as it scrapes onto the tip of a speed hump. He need not an eye-glass for a gentlemanly state, for his gentlemanly state comes when he looks through his lowered car's rear-vision mirror at things passing behind him. He need not ear a tuxedo or anything fancy for his lowered car's windows are protected by the darkest legal tint, thus stopping anybody from making judgements of his clothing choice as he nears them. He need not a Dupont lighter to lure in female smokers, for his lowered car contains its own custom cigarette-lighting device.

Be astounded by any man with a lowered car, for they are not abundant - they are rare, and their rarity is valuable, thus if you are seen in their lowered car, you become a valuable rarity, and an envy of every other girl who has a thing for men who give more attention to their almighty lowered cars than their hygiene. When a man with a lowered car offers you a lift, refuse not his offer and be not hesitant to enter his lowered car even if he looks as though his dinner for three years has been mouldy roadkill. Approach this man with a lowered car and enter his lowered car and embrace his lowered car, for this offer may not ever be repeated.

Trust any man with a lowered car. Embrace any man with a lowered car. It is scientifically proven that lowered cars are elegant summertime transportation devices and known chick magnets.