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Surfers talk about finding the perfect wave, and I'm over here struggling to find the perfect parking spot at the mall. Priorities, right? I guess catching a good sale is my version of catching a wave.
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Surfers are always talking about the zen of riding waves. Meanwhile, I'm just trying to achieve inner peace by untangling my earphones. They're finding tranquility in the ocean, and I'm here struggling with my headphone feng shui.
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You ever notice that surfers have this golden tan that makes them look like they're living in a perpetual Instagram filter? Meanwhile, I step outside for five minutes, and I'm either a lobster or Casper the friendly ghost. The only waves I'm catching are heatwaves and sunburns.
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You ever notice how surfers have this laid-back, carefree attitude? I mean, they're basically riding giant waves on a board, and I'm over here stressing about whether I picked the right emoji to send in a text message. They're like, "Dude, catching the perfect wave is life!" And I'm like, "Yeah, catching the perfect Wi-Fi signal is my struggle.
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You know you're not cut out for surfing when the only board you're comfortable with is a cheeseboard. I mean, give me a cheese platter, and I can ride that all day long. But put me on a surfboard, and suddenly I'm doing my best impression of a drowning giraffe.
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Surfers talk about the thrill of the ride, the rush of adrenaline. I get a similar rush when I successfully parallel park on a crowded street. It's a tight space, judgmental onlookers, and a fleeting sense of accomplishment. Basically, my version of extreme sports.
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Surfers always talk about being in sync with the ocean, one with the waves. Meanwhile, I'm struggling not to swallow half the ocean every time I try to bodyboard. They're out there gracefully gliding on water, and I'm just trying not to get smacked in the face by a rogue wave.
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Surfing seems cool until you realize it involves waking up at the crack of dawn. The only time I'm catching waves that early is when I accidentally set my alarm for PM instead of AM. The only "crack of dawn" I'm familiar with is the sound of my knees cracking when I finally get out of bed.
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Surfers have this language all their own. They talk about gnarly waves, getting barreled, and hanging ten. Meanwhile, I'm over here struggling to understand why my GPS keeps telling me to take the next left when I'm already on a one-way street. That's some real navigation comedy.
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