On my summer days, I like to strut around in a bathing suit without makeup and get tan. Oh, and I get paid for it. Because I'm a Red Cross-certified swim instructor. What can I say? It's summertime and the livin' is easy.
But, there are days when it's sunny and hot and I can't convince myself that sitting inside is a good idea for very long. On these days, when I don't have work, it's either feel guilty about wasting a beautiful day, or get my ass outside and tan. I do go outside and I do enjoy the sun. For awhile. Until I start getting distracted.
Let's just say, if I didn't have an outdoor summer job, I'd never get tan.
I don't have the attention span to just sit. I can read for hours. I can watch a movie or multiple episodes of a show. I can be online. I'll even lay out at the beach. But, when I'm in my own backyard, there are just too many distractions; I can't sit still. I drink too much water as it is, so I'm constantly running inside to the bathroom. I sit in a chair, lay on my stomach, sit in the grass. I listen to music, I read. I get hungry. I want to read something else. I need more water. I just keep fidgeting, up and down, inside and out, running around, always moving. And, what's odd, it's entirely a summertime affliction.
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So, how many of you took one look at fat, round-faced, silly little Neville Longbottom in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and wrote him off as ugly for life? You can't see me, but I'm raising my hand. And I am ashamed to admit that.
Did anyone else see the Deathly Hallows Part 2 poster for Neville? Hot DAMN. Why, hello there, where did you come from, Matthew Lewis? Neville's still there, no matter what kind of publicity, posed, photoshopped picture it is - which I love. But he's grown up and thinned out and toned up and just generally grown into the right type of guy.
And I'm in love.
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I mean "grimy" as a good thing, by the way. It sounds gross, but it's just the right word for it. It's that feeling after dancing too long, after being packed into a one-bedroom apartment with too many people, after a night of debauchery. It's sweat and God knows what else on your skin. It's going in desperate search of water. It's your hair's a wreck and your makeup's smeared, but you don't give a damn. It's someone else's words in your head, someone else on your skin, someone else seared onto your brain. It's where reality and fantasy collide. It's grimy and it's glorious, and you'll hate washing it off in the morning.
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