I never get tired of seeing directions to the beach. It reminds me that a very short detour will result in me breathing in the wonderful scent of salt water, seeing surfers doing their thing and generally chilling out, if only for a while. Actually, that's exactly what we did on Saturday- we took a wrong turn and ended up at Bronte beach. Just hours before, it was chaotic. I had a call at 7am from the mattress delivery person saying that he was at my new house and where was i? I had been told to give him a call at 9am to see what time he was arriving. I ran (Jon had my car) all the way from my friends' house where i was currently staying to my new house, 10 minutes away. In my slippers.Thank God it was only 10 minutes away. Grrr. And then, i couldn't get back in to my friends' house as i didn't have the security swipe card with me. What else could i do but head to Cafe Zoe (uncombed hair, unbrushed teeth and all) for some coffee and toast. Then, the real moving occured (to be more precise, Jon and two other guys moved my things while i sat on the couch and read Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld). I wasn't in a good mood and then Jon wasn't in a good mood and it was just terrible.
And that was when the wrong turn occured and we ended up at the beach. We rolled up our pants, walked into the ocean. Was there any other option?