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STRANGELY HUMOROUS
Uncle Leo Hated the Beach
And the beach hated him
Uncle Leo was the only one I knew who hated the beach. He hated the sun, the sand, and the ocean. He hated seashells and never put one to his ear. He stepped around the seaweed for fear of getting tangled and never took a swim because he didn’t know how.
He hated the sound of a tugboat horn. He disliked the gulls staring at him when he ate pretzels, and the way the pelicans dive-bombed for fish rubbed him the wrong way. He disliked boardwalk food because he said cotton candy was too sticky, pizza was too greasy, and peanuts were too warm. He liked things cold—the weather, the beer, and the room temperature when he slept. He preferred ice to warm pool water and snow to a misty ocean wave.
When he was alive, he looked deathly pale, as white as a ghost, and the more he drank alcohol, the more his skin turned yellow. He drank because he was self-conscious about being skinny, tall, bald, and having an unusually large proboscis. He avoided crowds but sometimes liked to be the center of attention when intoxicated.
My uncle lost his teeth in his twenties and had a hard time chewing Turkish Taffy. His false teeth floated in a jar of chalky Polident while his gums shrank to the size of a toddler’s. The varicose veins in his legs seemed to…
