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Southern spring break suffering

March 23 to March 31 should have been my safe haven.

My break from responsibilities. 

Instead, I got chased by crabs, sand in my bottoms and crispy lips. I guess I should start from the beginning. Let me paint you a picture from my week under the sun.

It all started in ’Bama where I decided Google Maps is a liar and a cheat because 17 hours is very different from 12. Safe to say they’ve lost a valuable customer, Apple has my location now.

I lost part of my soul in Alabama and surprisingly gained it back when we crossed over the border into Florida, which is usually where souls go to die. But my body was craving the beach so much that I was sweating salt already. So, we continued on into the beast.

Some could say I fell out of the car, others would say I elegantly tripped, either way, there I was, laying on the concrete driveway, basking in the sun like a lizard.

The next day is when things didn’t go as expected.

I decided that because of the beautiful, warm, breezy, gorgeous overcast, cotton shorts and a sweatshirt were reasonable. I’m also dumb and didn’t put a swimsuit on underneath, so the obvious next step was to sit in the water in my day clothes.

Let’s just say sand gets in places you don’t expect it to. This ‘place’ was my swimsuit bottoms, and my bottom.

I dumped a small sandcastle worth of sand onto my bathroom floor …  that changes a girl.

I cleaned myself up, I’m a lady after all, and headed into the kitchen to see the most appalling, horrifying sight I’ll ever lay eyes on. My fellow ocean-goers were drinking from cartons of milk. Everywhere I looked I felt there were piles and piles of cartons. 

Why was milk drunk on this trip? Why is milk drunk by anyone, ever? A failure on society’s part, in my opinion. However, they soon explained to me that this horrible substance had a purpose, they were going to use the cartons to be crab shovels.

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“It’s time to catch some crabs,” a milk drinker said, while wiping the ring of milk from his lips.

I followed my posse down to the beach when we couldn’t even see a foot ahead of us and was like yeah, this is a solid idea.

Foreshadowing for the audience: I’m afraid of crabs.

So many crabs were caught that night I thought they’d start a rebellion, seeing their white shells glimmer in my iPhone’s flashlight was like getting an epi-pen shot straight to the heart. Each. Time.

They’re not to be trusted. How can you trust something that can only move two directions? The answer is you can’t. I’d rather get stomped on by a moose than have a crab walk over my foot, and I’d rather fall off a mountain than step on one.

Not a good combination when the bucket is full of crabs. I could see the vengeance in their eyes when someone dumped them out all at once. I could have been in the Olympics that day. Usain Bolt has never been in the same room as me and a crab.

Our evil deeds did not go unnoticed. All of the karma fell onto my lips. 

The sky branded me with herpes, the sun lashed out with its rays and gave me the kiss of death: a cold sore.

I paid for the sins of my friends, but I’d do it again for the gnarly tan I got.

stumbata@miamioh.edu

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