A Chapter One - Two Days to Go

One - Two Days to Go

Is that Louise sunbaking topless?

No, that woman's boobs are too big to be Louise's. And she would have
to be at least a D cup.

Eww. How do I know the size of my holiday neighbour's breasts
anyway?
Here will do. Don't want to be too close to the boobs. God now she's
lying flat, they're touching the sides of her towel. HUGE!

This beach is the best. My favourite place in the whole world.

Breakfast was relaxing after last night's four-hour dash up the coast.
Relatively healthy too. Nutritious cereal, or so the box states,
followed by a Tim Tam chaser.

Yummy! Shame I could have only one. Normally, I'd save a few bikkies
for the next morning. But last night's ride was worse than any other
trip. Clover's extraordinary pathetic prattling about her attractions
forced me seek solace in the packet. The yapping and Tim Tams didn't
make for easy travelling round the bends through the bushy hills.
Clover was still moaning about the vomit in her hair to Mum as she
tried to deodorise the car again this morning. At least I'll get the
front seat on the way back.

Snooze time&;#8230;.

God, hope that was just a drip from the kid running past and not bird
shit.
Nope, no texture. Just seawater on the sunnies. Why doesn't it ever
clean properly?

Fantastic weather! Mmmm, this is my own little piece of paradise. Of
course the beach itself is quite beautiful, small with gentle waves
washing against golden sand, nestled between two bushy headlands. Quite
the postcard.

What I really like is that I hardly know anyone from home. On this
beach, I don't have to be anyone else but Daisy. It's me, all
naturale.

Shame about having to wear the cossie. If there wasn't a chance Mum or
Clover would rare their ordinary heads and that my boobs would shrivel
(well, the nipples of my struggling A cups anyway) and transform into
two melanomas, I think I would be game to at least go topless.
Obviously not in the style of the non-siliconed Anna Nicole type over
there.
Mmm, I guess it's lucky that I do love it, because it would be tough
luck if I didn't. Five Christmases now. Have survived another year of
private school academic pressure and non-conformist angst, infinite
losses in short story competitions and my nemesis - the one-leafed
Clover. Absolutely fantastic year! Now I can just vegetate. Definitely
no creative writing.

Is that a cloud threatening to destroy my cancer-correct sun worship?
Piss off!
The long weekends used to be fun, but now Mum has climbed the
publishing ladder and Dad is living his separate life, I'll just have
to be satisfied with the two weeks at Christmas and Easter. Dad usually
only comes up for Christmas Eve and Day. I'm surprised he even manages
to play daddy for forty-eight hours.

When I have my licence I'll come up with Em for long weekends and
other holidays. We can just do what I plan to do today - lie on the
beach, read a little, swim a little, eat a lot and not worry about too
much else. Especially not the Dad thing.

I'm ready. The necessities are waiting - a bottle of water, a large
packet of BBQ chips, two Turkish Delights and a Cleo magazine. Sugar,
fat, artificial flavours and colours and artificial views on matters of
world importance! What more could a GIRL want on such a sunny summer
day?

Is that a major Tim Tam crumb in the belly-button canyon?
I really shouldn't eat it, should I? No, especially as it is covered in
lint. Flick! Good luck finding this one seagulls.

Lucky Mum handed over some cash, because if I'd relied on my pitiful
bookshop earnings from last week, I'd only have afforded one lonely
Turkish Delight. Mmm&;#8230; should really thank the nemesis for
playing on Mum's guilt about working today. Clover does it so well. Now
she can get the new bikini she's been going on and on about. She's also
gone to the one and only surf shop in the village to perve on Pot Head
Pete. Gorgeous, but major ganja grey matter disease.

At least she isn't down here.
God, it's even quieter than usual. Excellent. Cloud's taken a
hike.
Sarah, the holiday fiend, (oops, Freudian Slip), won't be arriving with
her family until late on Boxing Day. Even so, Sarah manages to spend as
little time as possible on the beach, so as not to fade her foils, or
risk developing a pinprick of a freckle. 'Blessed by nature with a
flawless complexion' and unfortunate enough to have a mother who
originally trained as a mortuary make-up artiste. Any pimple daring to
blemish the perfect Sarah would have been zapped by her mother's trusty
laser long before another being had laid eyes on her.

Nightmare mother, nightmare daughter. What could you expect? They're an
inner suburban Kath &; Kim, but 'yumah-les'. Gee, I'm quite
witty!

The two little sweeties in front are having a great time; knocking down
sand castles their dad has taken ages to build. He's getting the poos
though. Why can't dads remember that knocking sandcastles over is much
more fun than building them?

Time to heat up my back. Gee, I've tied this attractive, vintage, pale
orange top tightly; part of the cossie I had not realised until today
that had become so completely useless. If only I could just
reach&;#8230;

What is that noise?
It resembles the sound of boys. Teenage boys? What the -??

There they are. Ten metres away. How dare they? Four guys, around my
age, boogie boards and the latest surf gear.
I am SO pissed off!

What do they think they're doing HERE? I've never seen a group of boys
here before, and they all have their backs turned to me now, so I can't
truly evaluate them. The full-on surf gear says a lot though. New. So
new you can still see the shop creases in the t-shirts, and expensive.
Middle class, orthodontically correct soap star quality from the leafy
suburbs. How did they come to be in this part of the world?

This cossie! It's lost its elasticity. Damn! I'll have to be very
dedicated about the whole shaving routine. Normally I could get away
with being a little furry, and only Clover and Sarah would make some
smart arse comments. 'I see you've decided on the Brazilian this
season.' Ha bloody ha!

Hide the GIRL items under the towel. The towel of course is the same
towel I've been using up here since Dicky Damien gave it to me when I
was twelve. A faded, worn Target velour classic, with daggy pink
daisies running amok. Stupid daisies. Even then, that joke had been
well passed its used by date.

Brilliant. It's been a couple of minutes and I haven't felt their
attention. Guess that proves what a MAGNET I must be to a group of
seemingly well-packaged HUNGRY HORMONES. Well at least I don't look
like a gluttony GIRL dag now.

Why should I care anyway? Exactly!
I've been waiting weeks for this and some group of dopey guys is not
going to turn me into some GIRL reluctant to get her cossies wet. Even
if the said cossies should be banned by the Cancer Foundation for
boasting a negative SPF rating. Anyway, they still have their backs
turned and seem to be pretty engrossed in getting ready to ride their
boogie boards.

Of course! Major wedgie.
So much for not drawing attention to myself. Do I need a crow bar to
force the orange dental floss from my cracker?

Ah there! Finally.

Nothing left now but a desperate plunge into the crystal waters of the
blue Pacific.

Oooh, it IS cold. Why does that always surprise me, even on such a hot
day?
Better get under a wave before the wedgie from hell returns.

Here I go&;#8230;

It's a dumper.
The only dumper this beach has experienced in five years! Super wash
and spin, heavy-duty industrial model. Sinus irrigation and colonic
sand blasting.

You'll be okay, just don't panic! Too late!
Finally&;#8230;air. God, I can't see a thing!
Stupid sand, and where are my eyes? Why is my hair glued to my face?
Oh, the snot. Ick, where did the oyster come from? Revolting!

Where's the beach? Oh, it sounds like it's that way. The wrong
way!
If I go under the water, the snot-glue should wash out a little.
Yes, it worked, and now for the emptying of the ex-crack dwelling sand
filled cossie bottoms&;#8230;

God, I hope no one can see me.
Oh how wrong could I have been? Of course, there in front of me is a
guy, a cutish guy, gawking at me. What is he looking at for God's
sake?

OH MY GOD! Shit. Shit. Double shit!!!!

Quickly fix it!

My bikini has shifted to the right during the permanent press wash
cycle and I am revealing my small boobs like a Penthouse centrefold to
the whole world. If the cutish idiot held out his arm, he would be able
to have a good old grope.

The oyster wants out. The Turkish Delights want to re enter the
atmosphere.

Oh no, not vomit as well! Go back under the water, turn in the opposite
direction and adjust. And slow down.

Dredge and recover. Yes. I'll just coolly swim away and pretend nothing
has happened. You'll drown if you attempt to swim. Just take some deep
breaths and wait here until he's gone.

He's still there, looking pretty amazed. Well, who wouldn't be, having
their own free peep show? God, why won't he just GO AWAY?

Actually, he looks really embarrassed now. HE'S embarrassed!

Finally, he's off. Thank God he didn't say anything.

Where's my towel? Where have all these other towels come from? Is that
my cossie slapping against my thighs? How much sand is still in
there?

Found it. Ow, the stinging won't go away. The sand and salt are
acupuncture needles piercing my eyes. Can see HIM though. Talking to
his mates. They'll have a good old laugh about my almost non-existent
boobs.

Oh of course, Turkish Delight wrappers fall out and slow me down.
Should I just leave them? You know you can't. Bloody wrappers!

Only a hundred metres to go. Oh please, let me make it without any
further humiliation! Please!!! Don't look back.
See, you did it! No heart attack, or jeering followed me up the
road.

Key, where's the key?

Excellent, Mum's busy on the phone going off at someone.
Bathroom.

OH MY GOD! Look at that hideous creature. Could it really be me under
the dark blonde, permanent dreadlocks? I can't even see properly! Ick,
the tears are making the acupuncture of the eyes worse. Oh, and now
comes the river of snot. Tissues, surely we have tissues? No. Toilet
paper it will have to be.

I may have well just used an electric sander on my face because the
area above my top lip is now red raw. Skinless. A meaty looking
moustache. GROSS. And now there are drums playing Black Sabbath against
my forehead.

Thank god Mum is still telling off one of her authors because I
couldn't bear the psychological reinforcement.

Could my day have possibly been worse? Well, -

Oh shut up brain! So much for being Decent Daisy, champion of my
conscience and self-esteem.
Just stop trying to think rationally. Wallow.

WHY am I acting like such a GIRL?

A shower and self-imposed solitary confinement are required. Lucky I
packed the sorbolene. Talk about major rustic exfoliation. Sarah's mum
would be happy.

How DOES sand get up there? And up THERE? Just look at that pathetic
excuse for cossie bottoms. I'll need power hose to remove the dune from
the liner. Hhhmmm.

Today has been THE most embarrassing day of my entire life!