Surfer Girl

“She’s a surfer girl.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh you know, she surfs, she’s always surfing.”

He felt like he already knew her. She probably wore pucca shells and Roxy clothing. She probably smelled like coconuts and sunshine. She was probably tan and fit. She was probably single and ate tons of pineapple or papaya or something. She probably knew the best smoothie recipes. She probably laughed all the time and had tons of friends. She could probably throw a solid punch, and a football. She probably owned dozens of teeny tiny bikinis. Her instagram account was probably super compelling. She probably did yoga and had a dog. She probably traveled a lot and surfed better than the boys. She probably knew when high tide was, and what all the different kinds of anemone in the tide pools were called. She might be kind of clumsy for some reason. She probably didn’t go to college and ditched class in high school when the waves were good. She probably worked as a waitress or something, a job she probably got because she surfed so well and the manager knew her family. She probably wasn’t very good at it and needed financial help. She probably didn’t know what words like “capricious” meant. She probably had some abusive meathead of an ex-boyfriend.

“Oh that’s cool that she surfs.”


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