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Annoyed on the beach - a great original beach story by Anonymous on a beach holiday.
Annoyed on the beach
So annoying. You've just managed to spread your towel across the lounger, placed the lounger just in the right shady spot, lathered your body with factor 25, and just opened your book and there he is. Mr Beachboy. "Hey Princess", how are you? Where are you from? How long are you here? Where are you staying? Of course you don't want to be too rude on your first day in this foreign country and you answer all his questions and indulge him in some polite conversation. But really, all you want to do is tell him to piss off and read your novel.
What is it with men? They see a woman alone on the beach and just assume they are interested in meeting local men. I guess it must work for them sometimes, why else would they keep trying and insisting? But the thing that intrigues me is the different tactics used by different nationalities. Take the Italians for instance. I'm not sure if theirs is the most romantic approach, but it sure makes you notice them. And hate them. They seem to think that the way to a woman's heart is to throw little beach pebbles at them.
Not sure if this classifies as romantic in my book. The only reaction they get from me is a pebble in return which usually ends up in a veritable pebble fight, not a green light to take me on a date. Californians befittingly comment women on the size of their breasts. Or the absence of them, in my case. Dutch men seem to think that we go weak in the knees when they show off their Frisbee skills practically on your beach towel so you get hit in the head with their Frisbee. Again and again. The only thing this triggers in me is the urge to pull the Frisbee over their heads so they can wear it around their neck.
Compared to the above men this St Lucian beach boy I am looking at now, is actually a true gentleman. As he folds a rose out of a banana leaf, he runs off his list of further questions and then says: "Here you go, Princess, a rose for you. I will leave you so you can read your book now." And he leaves. I smile and continue to read. At least this guy calls me a princess and gives me a rose. Which is more then I can say about the Italians, the Californians and the Dutch.
Author : Anonymous
So annoying. You've just managed to spread your towel across the lounger, placed the lounger just in the right shady spot, lathered your body with factor 25, and just opened your book and there he is. Mr Beachboy. "Hey Princess", how are you? Where are you from? How long are you here? Where are you staying? Of course you don't want to be too rude on your first day in this foreign country and you answer all his questions and indulge him in some polite conversation. But really, all you want to do is tell him to piss off and read your novel.
What is it with men? They see a woman alone on the beach and just assume they are interested in meeting local men. I guess it must work for them sometimes, why else would they keep trying and insisting? But the thing that intrigues me is the different tactics used by different nationalities. Take the Italians for instance. I'm not sure if theirs is the most romantic approach, but it sure makes you notice them. And hate them. They seem to think that the way to a woman's heart is to throw little beach pebbles at them.
Not sure if this classifies as romantic in my book. The only reaction they get from me is a pebble in return which usually ends up in a veritable pebble fight, not a green light to take me on a date. Californians befittingly comment women on the size of their breasts. Or the absence of them, in my case. Dutch men seem to think that we go weak in the knees when they show off their Frisbee skills practically on your beach towel so you get hit in the head with their Frisbee. Again and again. The only thing this triggers in me is the urge to pull the Frisbee over their heads so they can wear it around their neck.
Compared to the above men this St Lucian beach boy I am looking at now, is actually a true gentleman. As he folds a rose out of a banana leaf, he runs off his list of further questions and then says: "Here you go, Princess, a rose for you. I will leave you so you can read your book now." And he leaves. I smile and continue to read. At least this guy calls me a princess and gives me a rose. Which is more then I can say about the Italians, the Californians and the Dutch.
Author : Anonymous
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