If you haven't read Part 1 yet, go do that. Not because you'll miss anything important, but just because I said so.
So Sunday, July 4, D and I are like. . .WHY are we not still at the beach? So we packed more
coolers, dusted the sand off of everything, and took off again.
We set up shop in basically the same place as the day before (we could tell it was about the same place thanks to the remnants of the previous day's sandcastle) and got in the water. The waves weren't as rough as they'd been the previous day, although I did get knocked over a few times and ended up with a scrape on my hip and on my face.
(This is not the entirety of yesterday's sand castle. It was huge and epic and didn't fit on my phone's camera screen.)
D took a picture of me on his phone (which I will not be posting here, as it features Pale Sarah and the Bikini). He showed it to me, and I said:
S: Delete that one! I have a roll!
D: It's the way you're sitting. Everyone has rolls.
S: No! I don't want that on camera. Delete it! I don't want a picture of rolls.
D: I like your roll.
S: (mutters) Your mom likes my roll.
S: Nothing. Delete that one. You can take another one.
He took another one. In an attempt to be roll-less, I instead look like I'm trying to be some kind of pin-up.
I'm honestly not sure which is worse.
We ate sandwiches and fruit and cookies and things, soaked up harmful UV rays, and hung out until early evening, when we packed everything up and loaded it into the car.
Beach-walked more until the fireworks started.
Now, this set of fireworks was different from the ones we'd seen the night before. Most of these were not professionally-done fireworks. There were probably six or seven different sets of fireworks being shot off up and down the beach. Plus, there appeared to be 4 or 5 professional shows happening at the same time. The fireworks went on well past midnight.
We were watching this one show and decided it was time to head on the rest of the way down the beach. The problem? This would require us to walk in front of people setting off fireworks.
At what seemed like a lull, we started walking. Then we saw a guy with a lighter walking toward us, and we started walking faster. Then there was the "hsssss. . ." of a firework about to explode in my face.
Me: Ruuuuuuun!!! AAAAAHHH@(#*@)!!!!!
We did not get hit by fireworks.
We did, however, on our way back up to get more blue ice cream, see a little sand crab running around, looking irritated (crabby? ha.) at all the people.
D kept trying to pick him up with a shovel and move him to a place with less foot traffic, but he kept sinking down into the sand, trying to hide/get away. He was like a ninja crab.
Prior to getting the aforementioned ice cream, we saw a bunch of people standing around something or other on the beach. "Hope it doesn't have anything to do with that guy who disappeared yesterday," says D.
As we approach the group, and I have images of dead bodies in my head, I say, "Hey, is that. . .a shark?!?"
Sure enough, a guy we'd passed earlier in our walk who'd been struggling with his fishing pole, had caught a shark. It was probably 4 1/2 feet long, and looking pissed. Also, dead.
It occurred to me that I'd been swimming in the very water in which the shark was caught. That not only gave me the heebie jeebies, but also made me want to stick to swimming pools for a while.
More ice cream was had, we drove around the island for a while, and then we headed home.
All in all, the Most Awesome of Weekends, and I was irritated when it was all over.
However, what I did accomplish was that, during our firework-laden beach walk, D said, "You know. . .I like East Coast beaches."