Yesterday, the hubster laid down the law. “We’re going to the beach.” Now, in case you’re not familiar with my distaste of this hell on earth, take a good look at my photo in the upper right corner there. —->

I’m a redhead with blue eyes and fair skin. I burn under a 60-watt bulb. I’ve always secretly envied those women who can go to the beach and look more gorgeous leaving than they did when they got there. When I leave the beach after a day in the sun, I look like I’ve spent thirty days on some deserted island with none of the comforts of home. My baby fine hair whips in the wind until it’s a snarled Medusa-like nest around my head. (If I add a hat I get the added benefit of a flat top. And tying it back is like trying to tie down a rabid wolverine with a strip of dental floss.) My skin turns pink and/or blotchy with freckles. I break out from the clogged pores caused by the massive amounts of sunscreen I’ve applied. And the sun drains me to the point I usually fall asleep in the car on the way home.

The dh, who is of Greek and Italian descent, worships sun, sand, and everything shore-related. As do his children, thanks to the magic of DNA. But it’s only mid-July and I’ve already used up my patience with spending time at the beach (and I have a beach week vacation to “look forward to” in August.) So…yeah. I made a face at the suggestion of spending yesterday in my own private version of Dante’s Inner Circle.

Hubster came up with a compromise. If I agreed to the beach trip, we’d go out to dinner when we got home. And not just a quickie chicken sandwich at our local bistro-style chain restaurant, either. A place with ambience and charm, where I could sit and enjoy the furnishings as well as the food. Deal!

Well…Hubster and The Boy had such a fabulous time riding waves, playing ball, and soaking up UV rays that we didn’t leave the beach until 5:30. We had to pick up The Girl at work by 6 and there was no way we could do the one hour trip in 30 minutes. So, by the time we packed up, left the parking lot, zipped to The Girl’s place of employment and reached Home Sweet Home, it was after 7. And I barely had the energy to shower, much less dress, slap on a face, and go out for a nice dinner. Nor did I feel like cooking. So my Saturday night consisted of Chinese takeout and the movie, 300.


Help me out, readers! Who’s got a fabulous recipe for a summer dinner that can be thrown together in a matter of minutes–satisfying and delicious–without using the bbq grill or oven? Send me your recipes by August 1st. Post them here in comments or email me at the Contest link on the right. I’ll choose my favorites and award three winners each a free copy of my latest e-release, A Little Slice of Heaven.

Help a poor redhead out!