I'm certain that Duncan is at this point plotting to fill the hot tub with sunscreen so I can be dip-screened and he won't have to yell at me while I shriek and complain that he's spraying it unevenly/on my face/not on my skin at all.
And I'm allergic to it so I'm going to get a rash and a weird sunburn, but only in places. He gives up and gives the can to Sam and says You deal with her. I like her better when she doesn't talk. Sam laughs and suggests regular/nonspray sunscreen.
See how fast they all come out here when you try to rub that all over me.
I'll do your back. You can do the rest.
Well, that's no fun.
Hush, Bridge. You're killing me here.
I plant a big huge sloppy kiss on his cheek and let him off the hook. Ben can do this. Besides, his hands are like tennis rackets. He can probably have me covered in one minute flat with one pass.
Then I pass the torch to him. Though it's a sad day, because I was enjoying you being too much for Duncan but just enough for me.
Told you, you're my favorite.
And you are mine.
Love you, Sam.
But the SPF 60 Waterproof sunblock was no actual match for the Irish and I burned to a crisp inside of eight minutes. It was no match today for anyone else either and we have rechristened this to be Pink Point because now we all look like Lochlan after a day in the sun. Sweaty, ruddy and pink. He swears and says it means a day of hard work and I said that it means I am never going outdoors again, so someone needs to make it an indoor pool, and maybe an indoor beach since we probably have the money, and I'd like the stars and the moon inside too if you please and maybe-
Maybe just keep to the covered chaise, Peanut, because really you can't tan. But you shouldn't anyway so it's just as well.
I think part of me is still outside. Does this look melted to you? I hold up one elbow. I feel broiled and skinned and miserably fried.
Yup, maybe a bit. I'll send someone out to scrape up the leftover bits. Maybe we should make room in the fridge for you.
Oh, that's a great idea, yes, let's do that.