Dans Papers - June 1, 2007 - Sheltered Islander # 450

Like the midnight hour clanging in Big Ben, Memorial Day has clanged and heralded the opening of the Shelter Island Summer Season. Tourists will come in waves now, like locusts on the move. They'll stop and feed and move on again.

There is one kind of tourist that I loathe above all the others. I call her, "She Who Must Be Seen." She appears at the beach. She is between 20 and 30 years of age. She may even be up to 45 (with some work done,) and can still hold her own with the 20 year olds. She is thin, wears a bathing suit that is spray painted on. She has no cellulite or stretch marks. She wears big hats and dark sunglasses with designer logos on the side. She drinks imported bottled water that is always cold, even if she leaves it in the sun. She does not go in the water, except to wade. That's how I figured out the bathing suits were spray painted on, if the Shes go in the water, the suits wash off. She is wealthy but complains constantly about stuff I'd give anything to complain about, like this actual quote - "Well, I just don't like the color of the leather in the new Jag, it's too medium tan, so I'm having it redone custom to a soft ecru. It'll be about $7,000, but I have a right to be happy, don't I?"

If you think I sound bitter because I'm overweight, middle-aged and poor, you only think that because you're right. However, being overweight, middle-aged and poor does not preclude being clever, resourceful and persevering. Not only that, but I'm not alone. There's are lotsa gals like me on the Island and this summer, we have a plan.

This summer when I go to the beach, I'll be bringing a few extra items in my beach bag:

Small knife and two thick rubber bands. Over the winter, I have practiced whittling popsicle sticks into sharp points and propelling them with double-thick rubber bands. From the living room, I can impale an apple in the kitchen. From my beach blanket, I should have no trouble hitting implants that are pointing to the sky on other beach blankets at thirty paces.

Water pistol. While the She Who Must Be Seens sleep in the sun, I can dissolve their suits. When they wake, they'll be showing the 1% of their bodies that was covered and maybe some secret tattoos. They all seem to have a little tattoo at the apex of their gluteal fold -- a tramp stamp.

Food that smells like food. I'll bring my mushroom and garlic lasagna, warm from the oven, and a little hand-held fan to blow the smell their way. None of the Shes have smelled real food since they were kids. I'll lob a square of lasagna in the middle of them and watch the frenzy. I predict half of them will swarm it and half will run away and throw up just to get the food smell out of their nose.

Small bottles of Chanel Sun Lotion SPF 1000, but I have replaced the lotion with old Coppertone Instant Tan. I'll just leave the bottles in the sand near them. They'll all think they dropped theirs and pick it up. It won't be 'till after they get home and get out of the shower and see their orange streaked faces and bodies that the fun will begin.

Pens with pinhole leaks: I have pre-punctured about a dozen disposable pens. The Shes never seen to have pens and commonly ask to borrow one from the more practical looking women on the beach. This year, I'll give them a pen that will work fine and tell them to keep it. When the pen goes into the designer beach bag (can you stand it?) and the heat expands the puncture, oooohhhh, the horror of a ruined lining!

Mini M&Ms in Advil bottles. When the Shes ask if I might happen to have anything for a headache, because they think I'm so nice after I gave them the pens, I'll give them some tan M&Ms for Advil. Whereupon, sugar will enter their bodies and suddenly, their bodies, sensing the possibility of nutrients, will call out for more. I'll try to time it so they get the "Advil" just as the ice cream truck comes by. They will be bidding wars for Toasted Almond ice cream pops.