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17 Reasons Why I Hate the Beach by Ezra Théodore Tillett


SAND. Need I say more?



Sunscreen. The smell? Nauseating. It always makes me break out in spots somehow. Oily. My glasses won’t stay put. I don’t like the cut of its jib.


Children. They’re nice in small doses, okay, but at the beach? Hoo-boy. That’s too much for me. Too big a dose. How long until their nap time? How long until my nap time?



I’m a pale person, alright? I burn at the drop of a hat; I burn at less than the drop of a hat - I burn while still wearing the hat, in approximately ten minutes of direct sunlight. I have enough freckles, thank you very much.


Seagulls. I’d call them the rodents of the sky but that is an insult to rodents. One of the most unpalatable birds I’ve ever come across. If a seagull was a person, they’d be a mix of three: the entitled one who doesn’t understand boundaries, that loud one who thinks they’re much funnier than they are, and the friend who never buys their own food but always expects half of yours. 



I am a grandpa. Not literally, of course, just in my heart and soul and aching joints. I am ready to call it a day by 1pm every afternoon, often earlier. The amount of energy required of me to just exist at the beach is too much! Grandpa does not appreciate the pressure to pretend to have fun when he is not and would like to go home.


SAND. I feel like I need to say more. Who gave it the right? To burrow that deeply into every crevice of my body and belongings? It is a violation for me to have to dust sand out of my boxers or pick it out from under my nails up to a week after I’ve had the misfortune to be dragged in the vicinity of a beach.


Every time I try to read my book, someone asks me about my book. This is not a beach-isolated annoyance, but people seem more inclined to be a bother when at the beach.


Sandals = I think the fuck not! Put your feet away! I like closed shoes. Boots! Oxfords! Brogues! Sneakers, even! I can’t wear my funky socks at the beach, it would ruin them! I’m all for #FreeTheNipple and I firmly believe that you’re allowed to bare as much skin as you like, especially when it’s demanded by the weather, and I do not want to place judgement on your fashion or footwear choices. But I draw a personal LINE at strange beach-people whom I do not know seeing my TOES. 


Seafood is gross, okay? The word FISHY is used to described something that smells bad or suspicious. So why are you eating it? I’ll politely decline. I’m allergic to shellfish, anyway. For the record, the big greasy serves of hot chips wrapped in paper can stay.


When my hair gets wet it gets self-righteously frizzy, and if my hair gets wet with saltwater my death certificate will say ‘suffocated by own hair.’



Why are the colours at the beach so much, all the time? The sky is too bright, and the saturation is turned up to 110%. I have a headache.


Everything is so loud! The single redeeming quality the beach has is the meditative sound of the waves, yes? But there are children screeching and adults laughing obnoxiously and seagulls cawing and someone’s terrible taste in music playing. Pipe down!


Grandpa Ez has wobbly ankles alright? And they hurt when I walk on uneven or soft ground, so we can all agree that SAND is the work of an overly punitive and sadistic higher power who is tormenting me in particular.


Salt air triggers my asthma.


Jellyfish. This might sound like a non-concern to you, but I’m Australian and they wash up on our beaches all the time, sometimes en masse. They will still sting you and it does hurt, and yes, it can be dangerous depending on the type of jellyfish. Also, when they’re on land, they lose all grace they may have had bopping about in the waves and become just… electrified snot.


There is SAND in my coffee.




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