It’s called tourist season, doesn’t that mean we can shoot them?

Last semester, I took a class called “How to Write About Anything,” and one of the things we had to scribe was a travel essay. I sucked at it. I seemed to excel in a lot of the other assignments, but I just couldn’t get my fingers to type a decent paper about a destination.

Why am I babbling about this nonsense? Well my dear readers, let me tell you.

This past weekend, I went to Cape Cod for a few days. I’ve been trying to write a lovely piece to post, but, alas, I am just really bad at that sort of thing. We are all good at some things and bad at others, so I will add “travel essays” to the list of “Things I Shouldn’t Write.”

I normally don’t go up in the summer; I hate tourists, and try to avoid them at all costs. Calm down – I know that they are needed for economic reasons and blah blah, but they are annoying as shit (I’m not sure why people feel the need to throw their brains and manners into the Cape Cod Canal as they cross the Bourne Bridge…) I generally  steer clear and enjoy the more peaceful scene of late September and October, but with grad school starting in a few weeks, I wanted a little bit of sanity before the craziness begins.

No, it’s cool, Tourist. I wasn’t trying to take a picture or anything.

I am also fairly certain that WebMD would tell me I have some form of skin poisoning due to the sunburn that has overtaken my upper torso. I’m not even sure when it happened, though I’d guess it was when I was losing miserably at a mean game of mini golf. But now my upper back is scratchy and I was pretty sure my shoulder was going to fall off yesterday after having the seat belt rub against it for the four hour drive back to Connecticut – because of course there would be traffic!

Aloe is my new best friend.

But there were also a lot of positives, and I did get some serenity that I sought out. There were beautiful sunsets and a lot of ice cream and coffee. I got to chill with some of my family; my 20-something cousins reminded me how critically unhip I am, and my 80-something grandmother found loads of joy in having us constantly yell at her to use her cane or walker. There was a barrel full of smiles and laughter, and it was good for my soul. I found a new shell for my necklace, and a new bumper sticker for my laptop. I was able to dick around on Monday morning and breathe in a bit more salty air before having to head back, and I won a rubber duckie in a bikini at the rest area.

Another day, another sunset.

And, here’s the deal, I have no idea how to end this. I told you I am the worst at travel essays.

I greet CT the same way on every trip.



  1. You could have said
    So there you have it. My time st the Cape. I will be back. Thanks.

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