Soaking It Up

This post needs a really quick disclaimer: I’m fully aware that skin cancer is a real and dangerous possibility.  With that in mind, there aren’t many things that feel as good as some quality time in the sun.  The heat soaking into your skin just feels healthy.

A friend and I were talking about that as we walked away from the beach on Saturday.  Sure, three hours in the sun got us one step closer to skin cancer, but we felt like we’d been on a good run.  A dip in the ocean definitely helped with the fake health factor, too, since there’s nothing like salty skin to make you think you had a great workout.  There’s at least some value in extra Vitamin D, right?  Add a sandwich with lots of green stuff, a few grapes, and a light breeze, and sitting on your bum in the sand never felt so beneficial.

The rest of the weekend included wearing my favorite summer dress on Sunday, some grilling action that evening, and a long afternoon nap wedged neatly between the two.  If Car Talk and some time on the porch had been added to the Saturday morning docket, all of the perfect summer bases would have been covered.  All in all, it was a great weekend for saying goodbye to the height of summer.  There are still plenty of warm days left in Virginia this year, but the sun is setting earlier, football season is a few short days away, and the U.S. Open started today.  All signs point to fall.

Other weekend tidbits include a dream about a serial killer attacking me in a sauna that was conveniently connected to the grocery store.  He was planning to kill me with a scalpel, starting with my feet.  He thankfully only got one or two slices into the job before I woke up.  I knew there was a good reason to not like saunas.  Also, I was reminded that I talk in my sleep.  Good thing the room-sharing nights didn’t coincide with the serial killer night, as that probably would have made for weird commentary.

Finally, in canine news, my parents added a new dog to their household yesterday.  Welcome to the family, Moresby!  And my much-loved dog turns 5(ish) years old today.  Or you could call it our third anniversary.  I technically have no idea how old he is or when he was born.  It’s somewhat miraculous that I remember that date at all, since I haven’t ever for the life of me been able to remember that type of thing with boyfriends.  I think it might have to do with the heartworm pills I give him on the same day every month (dog, not boyfriends).  If I get married someday, will I have to give my husband heartworm pills so I won’t forget our anniversary?  At least he’d be extra-healthy.  Then I’ll send him out to get some sun (and it all comes back around).

[Thanks for the flip flops picture, JosieRodgers.]

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