Some time ago – a good, long grateful distance – Boyfriend had an idea. A terrible one, in my opinion.
First, let me explain: he wants me to be a surfer…so I can look thick and ridiculous in a wetsuit, stagger into the ocean, slither onto his surfboard (with equal, deplorable grace) and ride in on my stomach. This isn't surfing – but it's as far as I intend on going.
And it leads to his terrible idea: to get me on the board miles and miles from shore (it certainly seemed that far!) and desert me. Once on shore he would take my picture, alone, nervous and surrounded by miles of blue life:
The first picture he took of me in a similar situation is similar, yet different. This time I was more at ease, more relaxed; this time I was not so ready to kill him as soon as I got my feet on the precious, yellow sand.