If there is a ball of any shape or size anywhere on the beach, it will inevitably find its way to my head. I have been konked by footballs, nerfballs, and ping pong balls daily for the past two weeks. I’m a ginormous flying object magnet, perching innocently in my beach chair with a book on my lap and my tootsies in the water. If I come home from vacation stupider, we’ll chalk it up to that, as opposed to my blonder hair.
But I’m not complaining. I’d rather get a clocked in the head on the beach than non-clocked not on the beach. Comprende? My mantra has always been: Any day on vacation is better than any day at home.
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