Now don’t get me wrong, growing up I had an absolutely amazing childhood, one of the best actually. Between swimming, gymnastics, little athletics, tennis, trampolining, taekwondo and baseball, I really didn’t miss out on much, bt out of the million and one things that I was lucky enough to get the chance to do when I was younger, there are two things that I am recently wishing I had done a little more of.
The first – dance lessons.
The second – visit the beach, more than once.
The dance lessons idea I would say is rather self explanatory. Actually, let me rephrase that; if you’ve ever had the pleasure of watching me attempt to dance, then the need for lessons would well and truly explain itself. Trust me, it’s not pretty.
I think I did try lessons once, unsuccessfully of course. Mumma decided to take me to a ballet class, but before it had even started I was crying on her lap begging for her to take me home. Sadly for the ‘now-grown-up’ me, she did what all good Mummas would do and she took me home. Needless to say, I never went back and I never learnt to dance.
I don’t blame her though, not at all. To be honest, I really don’t think lessons would have been able to help all that much anyway. Co-ordination isn’t something you can teach, it’s something you’re born with and going by the level of talent between my brother and I, I think the ability to dance definately skipped a generation. Unlike me though, he would never admit it. As far as he is concerned, not only was he blessed with moves like Michael Jackson but he was born with the voice of an angel. The rest of the world though, they might tend to disagree.
Now for the beach visits, where do I even start?
Firstly, it doesn’t help the embarrassment level when you have a boyfriend who has basically had the beach as his backyard since he was born and who is a complete stud in the ocean. Surfing, body boarding, being able to stay alive in the waves, he can do it all. In fact, if I was being completely honest and not at all bias, he has pretty much got it down to a fine art. It’s rather impressive.
Then there’s me.
I’m that girl you see out there standing waist deep in the water, who miraculously still manages to find herself being knocked over by every single breaking wave and no, in this case size does not at all matter. Even the smallest of waves seem to be smarter than I am. It’s quite embarrassing really.
I’m that girl who isn’t quite brave enough to leave the wading water in fear of a giant wave knocking me over while I am unable to touch the ground. Which, let’s be honest, the probability of a giant wave coming at some stage while i’m out there is a fairly safe bet. I would even go as far as to say it’s a certainty actually.
I’m that girl who still, wave after wave, somehow manages to be suprised when yet another wave pops up, rolls on in and sweeps me off my feet.
On that off chance that by some miracle you manage to trick me into swimming out past the waist deep water, well then I’m that girl who ducks so far down under the water to try and get away from the wave that I basically sit myself down on the ocean floor. Sure, it sounds like a good idea in theory. Right?
Whether it happens underneath the water or above the water, it really doesn’t matter. Either way, the end result is the same; Sam having a near death experience with the big horrible wave. Every, single, time.
I’m that girl who stands up after being knocked over by the wave, wipes my eyes and only just has enough time to open them again before being knocked back over within seconds. Graceful, extremely graceful.
I’m that girl who stands in between the flags about where the toddlers swim and still manages to end up face first in the ocean, countless times more than they do.
I’m that girl who watches the other girls out there, enviously. The ones that run and jump and frolick without a care in the world. The girls that clearly evolved from the mermaid family, with their graceful swimming and their lack of fear when it comes to waves. The girls that no matter what, still manage to come out from the water looking more like baywatch than a drowned rat. The girls that don’t almost drown with every single wave and who don’t get laughed at by three year olds. The girls that seem to belong out there. The girls that are nothing at all like me.
Just between you and me though, I’m still holding out hope that maybe, eventually, by some crazy miracle, I grow a tail too, because really, all jokes aside, I would make a pretty impressive mermaid.
For now though, my stud of a boyfriend is doing a pretty good job at saving my life. Everytime a giant wave comes he races back over to where I am, pulls me into his chest and holds me extra tight while the waves crash around him. He’s kind of like my very own brick wall. My perfect little lifesaver. So I just hold on tight, close my eyes, and go along for the ride, because really, tail or no tail, at the end of the day I’m always going to be ‘that girl’.
Maybe ’that girl’ can’t dance like the rest of the world or swim like a fish in the ocean, but that doesn’t mean that she isn’t one of the luckiest girls in the world, because ‘that girl’ has found something that all of those other girls out there are still searching for.
She was lucky enough to find ‘that boy’ and she has never been happier.