Photo by Will Langenberg
Last week I decided to be adventurous and leave my coveted life that consists of staying in my room watching back to back seasons of Friends. So I ventured out with a mate or two as well as a mutual friend whom I was yet to properly meet (I don’t count drunkenly confessing my undying love to them at a recent party as a real first impression).
So of course I get there looking like some new-age frumpy Bridget Jones in my cheap Kmart bikini and there she is – the image of radiance looking like a bloody Victoria’s Secret model with her perfectly golden skin and a body that could have only resulted from extensive pilates. Wonderful. Not that I’m jealous.
So we’re doing the small talk thing and naturally, she’s funny and of course I’m hilarious so we get along extremely well. It is important to keep in mind that I grew up with the boys we were with so they were absolutely stoked at our new found friendship.
So all is well and good and we are all being beachy and pretending to be coordinated throwing a tennis ball to each other in the shallows. And then it happens. My friend throws the ball towards me. Let’s call him Jarrod, because that’s his name. So Jarrod throws this ball to me and it looks as if it may fall a tad short so being the athlete I am, I take a slight step forwards and prepare my hands for impact. *success* For a split second I feel a rush of unprecedented freedom as if all the cares and worries in the world have simply slipped away. And then I realise they haven’t. But what has in fact slipped away is my bikini top. I am now standing in the middle of a crowded beach with my 8 year old boy breasts on full display to the entire country. This might of course sound a lot worse than it actually was. I am lucky enough to have been gifted with mild coordination and in some freak-of-nature move I managed to not only catch the tennis ball, but also catch my bikini top in front of my chest so I’m not exactly flashing anyone, I’m more sort of clinging on to my top over my breasts for dear life. Luckily, Victorias Secret is the first to realise what has happened. She takes one look and we both begin the necessary fit of laughter to try and comprehend the situation. Jarrod turns with a confused look on his face before stating “something’s missing”. I stand there, clutching both the tennis ball and my lady parts for what feels like a good half an hour as I begin to realise I should probably put my top back on at some point. In a move to rival Free Willy, i duck beneath the water to ‘readjust’ the bikini situation. I understood that from now on I will forever have to endure my friends telling me “whoops liz, try not to take your clothes off!” before every game of throw-catch.
As if the day wasn’t wild enough. After a feast of sandy chips and biscuits we thought we might as well have one last swim before we left. The boys swam out Victoria’s Secret and I went out so only our necks and head were above the water. We’re reminiscing about the time I thought we were at a nudist beach and took my top off which happened to occur not even an hour earlier. We are standing probably less than a metre away from each other and we notice something moving in between us. Now seeing as though we live in Australia it would be silly to assume that foreign objects in the water are “just seaweed” or “probably a fish.” No, if you see something moving in the water near you in Australia it is most likely something that will try to kill you so you are best to get the hell away from it. Victoria’s Secret who seems to also have an extensive knowledge of marine biology half screams that it looks like a jellyfish. Naturally, in order to run away from said jellyfish we begin flailing our limbs around in an attempt to propel ourselves to the shore. Once we realise we are safe, she acknowledges she may have been stung. I comment that I also felt it gently caress my leg. Seconds later my entire left leg is on fire and I think to myself “great, this is it, this is the end, this is what dying feels like”. The boys join us to inspect said jellyfish wound. My entire left leg has puffed up the size of a small child. It is burning. It will most certainly have to be amputated, we all agree. No one seems to want to say it, but we all know that when you get jellyfished you are supposed to pee on the sting. So nobody says anything and we all stand, looking at my ever-swelling leg and hoping to be miraculously healed.
Of course in the end the leg didn’t need to be amputated, I just had to spend some time icing it with the friendly life savers. However i did get some amazing battle wounds from it and to this day (approximately 1.5 weeks later) you can still see where the cheeky jellyfish got me. Perhaps it was aroused by my recent striptease efforts in the shallows. Perhaps not. We may never know.
The beach is rough. It is a wild world out there and if you are going, be prepared for anything.
Also, to avoid looking like a right lobster for the next week, wear suncream. And stay away from Jellyfish. And buy bikinis with secure fastenings.
Free the nipple,