Two weeks ago I visited Ocean Isle Beach with four of my girlfriends. All of us are in our forties. That’s an important point to remember as we move forward.
We arrived Thursday night and did the requisite drinks and seafood (and drinks) dinner and called it a night so we could hit the beach early. We woke up, donned our bikinis, packed a light lunch—Bloody Marys counting as a light lunch—and faced our first big decision of the day. What level sunscreen to use?
It’s a tough call. On one hand, prolonged sun exposure leads to accelerated aging with fine lines, wrinkles and age spots.
On the other hand, we all look phenomenal with a tan.
Three of us opted for 30 block, one opted for 50 block and our fair-skinned hostess pulled out the guns with 100 block, a hat, sunglasses and she reposed under a big-ass umbrella for the better part of the day. Girlfriend is going to look smoking at sixty when the rest of us resemble shriveled prunes.
Then it happened. A bottle of ibuprofen was spotted on the kitchen countertop. “Kim,” I called, “Can I take some of this ibuprofen for my back?”
It was like chum in the water. We all raced for the drug. One friend was dealing with chronic pain, one was pre-menstrual, one was sore from a hard run the day before, I was dealing with a wrenched back and I think the last girl took some ibuprofen so as not to feel left out.
“I’ll take three… “ “Here, can I have two...?” “I’ll pack some for the beach…”
I flashed back to spring break when I was 18 and all my friends and I needed for the day at the beach was a towel, baby oil and some tunes. I looked around our group of wonderfully mature women who were tossing back Advil like they were free margaritas, jumped up on a chair and exclaimed, “This party is on, bitches. Let’s DO this.”
We cracked up laughing. What else can you do?
Beach living, laugh lines, ibuprofen and friendship. It was a very good trip.