I have a confession to make: I really am a pantaholic. And I'm eternally grateful for my super-sized sunglasses.
Beach holidays rock my world. I love hanging with The Daughter, catching fish in rock pools, eating soggy ice-creams, watching her play in the sand through one teeny slit of eyeball whilst I allow the sun to worship my body. I love swimming in the sea. I love finding sea creatures nestled in the rocks with The Nephew and The Daughter.
I love cheese, biscuit and pickle lunches. And afternoon gins and a diet that has successfully obliterated post-break-up anorexia with the swiftness of a great big swift thing.
I love being with my family. I love that time feels unlimited - that there is no rush to hang out because being together is just what we do. I love that I have to think very little.
I love that I think less about Larry and that my heart feels like it's healing.
I love that I feel reconnected with my soul.
But what I really love, above all, is the post-beach exhaustion of the children and their lengthy afternoon naps. I love these, particularly, because the Sister-In-Law (my Sil) and I steal away to the pool for some much-deserved perve time.
Without children in tow, we're able to tan, undisturbed. It's kind of like Mom: Uninterrupted. We smoke whenever we want and use expletives in our general conversation because we can. And we treat ourselves to Rich Man Eye Candy.
And let me assure you, Zimbali is thick with this particular variety. Mmmmmm mmmmmm. Delicious.
Without my v big v rad sunglasses, I may be considered by the inner-Zimbalian cliques as the lecherous brazen hussy by the pool in the afternoons.
Oh God! Who am I kidding? They're clearly calling me that already.
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