The Day I Gave My Girls Crabs

The very first time I took my kids to the beach, they were two years old. Which, by rights, should've been the very last time we ever got near the water. I’ll just say I came in a little heavy with the sand kit.

My intentions as a parent are purely innocent, like this one. The only times it won't be is when they start dating. Oh, I have daughters. This experience, however, would quickly go into the column of failure. They were sitting in a sandy divot. One I had meticulously created for them. Gently sloped angles allowed them to sit comfortably while still giving passage for the seawater to flow through. As one wave approached, I eagerly told them to watch the sand sifter and quickly excavated several inches into the water-logged sand.

Now, I give it to the magic of Ariel’s touch. Which, by the way, I had previously told them, was my special helper today. Specifically, she was just beyond the surf, helping me reveal her gifts to the girls.

Only, our gifts, often called sand fleas, overtopped the edges of the sifter. Dozens and dozens of sand fleas scurried and jostled for escaped routes across four soft, pudgy legs, sending two little girls scrabbling in opposite directions.

Bystanders looked up just in time to see a large white beached whale expel a gaseous grunt as it rose from the shoreline. In my defense, I hadn’t seen much of the sun. So, yeah, I might’ve looked like the Michelin Man from that Ghostbusters movie. As I tried to divide and conquer, two women thought the whole thing was entirely too funny. I paused and told them I had just given my daughters crabs. That only seemed to laser an RBF, or resting bitch face from both of them. Guess what, ladies? They love to see the sea.