On the beach

E and I are essentially lazy people. Sure it seems like we work hard on the island but deep down our preference is to do very little. We have, it seems, an infinite capacity for staring motionless at the ocean for hours and hours.

I have only read one book. E has read none. We have our head sets on with hours of prerecorded music. Our current favourite pastime at the beach is a game I like to call Spot the Canadian male. It is only for fun. No wagering is involved. Unaccustomed as I am to unreasonable generalizations, the Canadian male it seems has an easily identifiable uniform. Midcalf length shorts in a solid neutral colour. His shirt has no collar and is usually in a coordinated solid neutral tone. If there is a logo on his shirt at all, it is small or of an athletic genre. He is then usually of a fairly, trim build wearing a baseball hat. The hat if it has any logo at all, might have a small athletic logo. Some guy in a shirt emblazoned with Calvin Klein shouting at us or in an orange speedo is likely a very nice fellow but probably doesn’t know that it is perfectly acceptable to drink beer before ten am.

I have on occasion, for seemingly altruistic purposes, offered to take a family’s picture or complimented perfect strangers on their well behaved children. In actuality I am confirming by their accent a guess as to their citizenship.

There is a machine which I call the mexican zamboni. In the morning it scoops up all the seaweed on the beach. I have heard people complain about the seaweed. Not me, living on our island we know seaweed and all I can think of is what great compost it would make in my garden.

Don’t get me wrong, many men of all different nationalities on occasion may wear the uniform of the Canadian male and really, why shouldnt they. It’s a good look

on the beach.

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