Here come the Lobster People

One of the things I always find amusing about summer is the Lobster People.

No, these are not people with weird deformities that causes them to resemble a delicious and expensive sea crustacean.

These are the people who are vacationing in our sunny climes and are as red as a stop sign from too much outdoor merriment.

It helps make tourists easy to spot as they look like tomatoes with legs.

Locals have either already gained a bit of a tan, or they know enough to lather themselves in SPF 4,000 before going out.

But many of our tourists come from a flat part of the country (I'm not mentioning any specific areas here) where summer is typically a couple weeks in late July so getting out and enjoying that great big ball in the sky is too much to resist.

So they doff their work boots, jeans and hardhat in exchange for a bathing suit and a floatie, and splash around local lakes as the sun slowly and subtly cooks them.

It is not until the next day they realize the folly of their actions. Then they grab all the after burn ointment they can find and cover every bit of bright-red skin they can reach.

I don't even want to think about what happens to nudists.

They are exposing parts of their bodies to the sun that typically don't interact with that big ball of brightness.

I have never been to a nude beach, and the world is a better place because of it.

I could see myself ditching my swim suit to splash around eu natural, only to cause the other beach goers instant blindness and nausea so bad not even a six-pack of Pepto would be able to help.

It would cause a mass exodus from the beach as if a land shark was gobbling up people like a fat guy at a Vegas buffet.

In other words, me running around the beach naked would be a bad thing.

I would also like to take a moment to apologize for any mental images I may have generated with the previous paragraphs.

Don't worry, with the proper amount of therapy and deep hypnosis the image will fade.

Hopefully.

Having spent my entire life living in the region, I have made a peace agreement with the sun: I will not run around with hardly any clothes on (again, you are welcome) and Mrs. Sun has agreed not to roast me like a pig at a luau.

Besides, even when I was young and in good shape and could run around without a shirt, I didn't because I don't tan so much as turn into a walking, talking mass of human bacon.

I have two colours: pasty white and lobster red. There is not much middle ground.

And, it would seem many of our foreign guests have the same problem.

They are ghostly white when they show up, and devil red when they leave.

But I suspect it may be a little harder to distinguish tourist from locals this year. We had a spring so wet even Noah was complaining about the rain, and that meant the local sun lovers had minimal exposure to the big bright ball in the sky.

And that means they will be pastier than usual when the big bright thing in the sky finally gets to shine – literally.

But at least the locals – well, many of them anyway – know when to get out of the sun.

So sit back, relax and watch the tourists turn red. It's always good for a laugh.

Copyright 2017, Darren Handschuh

There's hot and then there's summer heat

I used to love the heat.

When I was a young lad and had a head full of hair and a stomach full of muscles, it could not get too hot.

Now that I am at a stage in life where my hair has fallen out and my ab muscles have been replaced with a layer of ab flab, my summer attitude has changed as well.

Growing up, scorching hot summers were just a way of life. It happened every year and as far as I was concerned, the hotter the better.

I can remember running around pretty much the entire summer in shorts and no shirt. No one worried about nasty things like UV rays and getting too much sun, we just worried about having as much fun in the sun as we could.

Sunscreen was used occasionally, but in no time it had all been sweated away. Nowadays, you can't even look out a window without slathering on SPF 10w30 suntan lotion. The stuff is so thick if you jump in a lake with it on, the oil slick looks like the Exxon Valdeze passed by.

We would go from backyard pool to backyard pool – without sunscreen – for days on end. It was a little swarm of young boys in swimming trunks descending upon a home where the noise level would go up and the amount of Kool Aid would go down.

Ahhh, Kool Aid, what kid did not drink gallons of Kool Aid in the heat of a summer's day? Red, orange, blue – it all tasted the same, but we didn't care – it was Kool Aid.

Anyway, my love affair with the sun carried on for years. All through my teen years and well into my 20s I adored the sun and the heat it brought with it.

But gradually, things began to change.

I found myself less enamoured with the sun and the blazing rays of warmth it drenched my part of the world with.

At first, it was no more than noticing how hot it was that particular day. Over the years, it progressed from noticing how hot it was to complaining about how hot it was, to full-fledged whining about how hot it was.

By the time the real heat of July and August hit, I found myself to be a complete and total heat-wave wimp.

“It's too hot. Why is it so hot? It doesn't need to be this hot. Anything over 28C is unnecessary and is just Mother Nature showing off. 'Oooo, I'm Mother Nature, look how hot I can make it.'”

The older I get, the less I like the blast furnace that is summer in this region. Of course the older I get, the larger I get as well.

My body is substantially more enhanced than it was back in the good ol' days and I am sure that has a lot to do with my lack of joy over the rising mercury.

I find these days I look like a decorative water fountain in the heat, with sweat spewing water out of my pores in every direction.

I know, not a pretty picture, especially when I exercise in the summer months. I look like I went swimming with my clothes on after just a few minutes on the treadmill.

My new-found aversion to heat makes me really appreciate a loving and caring God who gave someone the idea to invent air conditioning.

So if you need me, I will be sitting in my air-conditioned basement, complaining about how hot it is outside and longing for the days of my youth.