In principle, I like beaches. They’re a plethora of shades of blue, which was my favourite colour before I decided that rainbow could be my favourite colour, fuck limited choices, and they have pretty sand, which gets everywhere, but it’s worth it, because that means that you were doing super fun things like building sandcastles or sex.

Then, after visiting this (amazingly beautiful) beach in Crete, I realized I actually really really don’t like beaches. Or the sea. They’re pretty in pictures – you know, the meeting between the shore and the waters, a breaking of the horizon, the silky smoothness of…stones, and crabs, but…guys. Crabs. And other things that you don’t know and can’t see because water. Cue peeing on jellyfish stings. And water! And…shivers…seaweed. Dark, slimy seaweed. And then rocky beaches – what’s that about? That isn’t a beach, is what that’s about, and what’s up with that? In Crete, the sand was HOT. Hot like you’re a cartoon dancing over hot things or that line of coals that is your initiation into the cool kids club. And, it was a rocky beach. The rocks were gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. I’ve always had a thing for rocks. But then people were diving INTO THE ROCKS IN THE WATER WITH A DEATH WISH. And the rocks on the side? Also slimy with…like…moss and sea stuff. What are these semi-white people things? Not for me, I can tell you that real quick.

I don’t know what’s in the water, the water has rocks, and seaweed, and sand gets everywhere, till like 3 weeks later. No thanks!

But that picture is fantastic, right?