Sure, you can slather yourself with high-SPF lotions, try to anchor a giant umbrella in the sand for shade, and wear half-inch-thick No. 3 Green sunglasses, but how is that a “relaxing day at the beach?” That’s like suiting up for a relaxing afternoon on the surface of the moon. Incidentally, sunscreen doesn’t necessarily prevent skin cancer.
Perhaps there are climates where diving into the surf for relief is so much fun it compensates for some of the above. Surely those beaches will never be confused with New England’s, where the water, even in high summer, can be shockingly cold. Still, it’s tempting to wade in just to wash the grit and beach-slime off your body momentarily.
Or to escape being devoured by greenhead flies, sand fleas, or other ravenous lower creatures desperate to eke out an existence where neither plants nor mammals can thrive. The water itself hosts a wealth of similar treats from poisonous jellyfish to great-white sharks, but that’s another story.
Finally, there’s filth. The beach may look clean when you squint, but check it out at low tide when all manner of stranded marine life dies and decomposes. And what’s that outflow pipe over there dumping in the ocean? At best motor oil and cigarette butts from storm-sewer run-off; at worst raw sewage.
Photodermatitis, second-degree burns, cancer, skin abrasion, insect bites, gastroenteritis, keratitis, dehydration, thermal shock, and a bully kicking sand in your face. A day at the beach is not, as they say, a day at the beach. Besides, you probably look like a punk in a swimsuit.
