Photophobia

We are back from a week in Mattaposett where the weather was perfect. Sunny days and cool nights. We rented a place on the beach, well across the street from the beach. We could keep an eye on it from where we sat on the deck, under the shade of a wide blue umbrella, sipping our mojitoes and dipping steamers into bowls of butter. We read. We swam. We sat on the beach for no more than ten minutes at a stretch. We returned as pale as when we left. We like it that way. We are photophobes. EPA's (Exceptionally Pale Americans)

This avoidance of the sun's damaging rays keeps our skin young and beautiful, while our sun-worshiping peer group is starting to wrinkle like the prunes that they eat for breakfast - you know, to stay "regular".

People look us over and challenge us. "You don't look like you've been to the beach!" "Where is your Tan?" "Did it rain the whole time?" "You look different."

Like, maybe they suspect us of going off for cosmetic surgery instead of a relaxing week across the street from the beach. I usuallly lose a few tons of fat by swimming every day, so maybe it looks like I've been to the Lyposuctionist. So, I take these jibes as complimentary even though they're intended to convey disapproval.

Anyhow, we are re-packing and doing laundry in preparation for next week in Florida. For those who would ask incredulously "Why the (bleep) are you EPA types going to Florida of all places? In July of all times!" I have only one answer: Grandkids.

We survive in Florida because of ubuquitous and efficient Air Conditioning. When forced to venture outside, we run to the nearest cool place. We dash across the sand to the ocean, then back to the shade of the poolside bar. We listen in on other people's conversations and then write humorous satires of them when we return home. Some people come home with a tan. I return with my notes and my stories.

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Job Search Update.

Activity has dwindled from spotty to zero. There may be a recovery going on out there, but it seems to be passing me by. This may force me to invoke Plan B (Retirement).
I'm old enough. I'm eligible. And Doggonit, they owe me.

I'm thinking of retiring this blog and re-tasking it to focus upon exploits of a retired freelance writer instead of working themes. Any thoughts?