a cure

My bathing suit must be cured by the salt water by now. Improved, becoming more the thing it is. A bathing suit.

Thank goodness it’s not fresh water apparel. That’s the home of snapping turtles.

I told Zack in Template last Saturday afternoon, if I lived in OB (Ocean Beach) I’d be in the Pacific every day. All seven days of the week. I’ve also become something of a surf report kid, app on the phone, website on the computer, like, what’s the haps Neptune?, and came to the conclusion a few weeks back that low tides offer not-much-of-a-swimmer me the best chance for bitchin’ rides. (P.S. – heard the word “Bitchin'” twice Monday, so cool.) Today low tide is at 2:30, easy to roll over to OB from here on the 5 and the 8, but the report says the waves will be real small.

I don’t think my cured bathing suit will care. Actually, I have three bathing suits. I’m just talking about the one I love today. Kind of like that old Donovan song – “I Love My Shirt.”