The beach is this weird place where people do things that they would never do in real life.  Case in point: A presumably normal day on Lewes Beach.  A 40-year-old man in terrifyingly tiny spandex buries his screaming four-year-old’s feet in wet sand, as his ten-year-old son dumps a bucket of salt water over his own head and marches around wearing the bucket as a helmet.  Two pre-teens menacingly brandish neon blue plastic crabs at a tiny, tu-tued girl with a single pigtail emanating from the middle of her forehead.  A leathered woman in a 1920’s era water costume rocks out to her iPod, ignoring the lifeguard sprinting by to drag two stranded boogie boarders in from where they have unwisely gotten themselves stuck out beyond the surf. 

I knit a sandy squirrel while wearing (gasp) water shoes.  Twilight zone, I tell you.