A day at the beach
(Thanks to the enormous Mariana Rimoldi-Sevellec for this translation!) I could no longer put up with what started as a kind suggestion from my family and ended up as merciless criticism of the way I am, as they listed out: that only a weirdo like me spends almost a month by the sea without once setting foot on the beach, that I can’t go back home without at least having dangled my feet in the warm waters of the State of Florida and, finally, walking on the sand barefoot and letting the tropical breezes ruffle my hair is good for who knows what kind of spiritual harmony and other esotericism of the sort. The members of my family have good intentions, but they are somewhat contradictory. On the one hand they insist that I should get a tan, on the other hand, they remind me a thousand times to smear myself with a sunscreen that is at least SPF 50, which, if I understood correctly, makes sure that your body feels like it hasn’t been exposed to the sun at all. Why do it, then? It