Pretend Summer: Uncle Bobbys Beachpocalypse Survival Guide for Spring-Confused Sunbathers
Dear Uncle Bobby, Is it just me, or are people already acting like it’s the peak of summer? I drove past the beach this weekend and saw full camps set up—tents, coolers, even grills—and it’s barely May! Are we just skipping straight to summer now?
Sunburnt in Sarcasm,,
Beach Body, Questionable Timing
Oh, Beach Body, bless your calendar-watching little heart. You thought the seasons mattered? No, no. Around here, the moment the thermometer cracks 78 degrees, it’s full-blown Beachpocalypse. We don’t ease into summer. We catapult into it. Towels? Spread out like someone’s repaving the coastline. Canopies? Set up with the architectural intensity of a medieval siege tower. Coolers? The size of studio apartments. Full of more beer than water because hydration is for amateurs. And don’t you dare try to find parking after 9 a.m. You’ll end up three counties over, hoofing it like you’re part of some dusty Oregon Trail reenactment, dragging a folding chair and regretting your life choices. And let’s not forget the real Florida veterans. They’re out there already sunburned, cooking on little grills, pretending it's not still technically spring, like they’ve been training for this all winter in their driveways. Uncle Bobby’s advice? Join 'em. Dust off the beach chair, load up a cooler with questionable sandwiches, and claim your six square feet of sandy paradise. Just know you’re entering the warm-up round for real summer survival: Seagull attacks. Sunburn patterns shaped like poorly placed sunscreen handprints. That one guy blasting Jimmy Buffett loud enough for three zip codes to file a noise complaint. It’s not about comfort. It’s about tradition. And asserting dominance over UV rays and common sense. Happy May. Welcome to "pretend it's summer even though it's barely spring" season. Now pass the SPF 1000 and get ready to sweat through your flip-flops.
– Uncle Bobby