We left the burning hell of Phoenix and its record number of 115 degree-days (25 in a row and counting) for the 73-degree days and ocean breezes in La Jolla. After 3 days in the “cool,” my forehead was on fire.

My forehead never directly saw the sun. I played 90-minutes of tennis in my stupid ear-flap hat with the big wide brim that covered my forehead and face.

I sat under the canopy selfishly stealing all the shade from my tennis partners as we drank beers for two hours.

The wife had the beach staff set up multiple umbrellas in front of the beach Karens, to cover up for my pigment impairment.

By dinner time, my forehead was beat red and hot to the touch.

My face had been covered by 70 spf sunblock. Then a layer of zinc oxide stuff the Boy had given me before we left.

“Nothing can burn through this,” he said with the confidence of half-a-Savage whose mother’s olive skin gave him just enough pigment to enjoy surfing for life.

But I don’t put that shit on my forehead — the sunblock runs it right into my eyes. I end up gouging at them like Oedipus Rex — only my punishment is bad pigment and sweat — not sex with my mother.

I’ve done this trip many times before. I’ve had the forehead peel, but not 2nd degree burns like this. You would think in 60 summers of practice, I would be smart enough to avoid these burns. There’s nothing dumber than a grown-ass man with a sunburn.

Previous years, I hid under the roof on the concrete patio next to the beach. All the sights, sounds and smells of the beach without sand in your butt crack or burns on your skin.

But 2023, the wife decided the umbrellas the beach staff put in the sand would be enough… She was wrong on two counts.

Beach Karen Bingo

First, the beach Karens behind us complained. I’ve been waiting for 6 years to have someone at the LJBTC complain about me. But it has until this event, always been a welcoming community.

We were wondering down to the beach at 2 p.m. on a Sunday — every spot in front of the tennis club was taken. But lucky for us the tide was going out.

“Can we set up closer to the water,” the wife asked the teenagers who run to get chairs and umbrellas for our beaching pleasure.

“Sure,” the girl said. “Tide is not coming back up until 8 p.m.”

They dropped two chairs and two lounges on the sand. They started the long rocking process of pressing and rolling the umbrellas into the sand. We wondered out from the shade and down to the beach just as they were tying “our umbrellas” to “our chairs.”

“Hey, you can’t put those umbrellas there,” the male Karen behind us complained. “We have been here since noon.”

“Sir, there are no reservations on the beach… we put the chairs where we can, and these spaces are open.”

“But our kids are going to dig a hole here and let the ocean run in,” Karen protested.

The water was 25 feet out to sea and heading toward Japan.

“Tides going out,” the attendant said. “They are going to have to dig out there,” and pointed toward former Empire of the Rising Sun.

No view, other people, our kids… and Karen started getting the other people in their “row” upset that newcomers were being set up “down front.”

“We could move,” the wife whispered to me.

“No. We’ve done nothing wrong.” I whispered back, semi-confident that 6 years of acceptance means we will always be accepted, but knowing they could kick us out of this entire club at any second.

“Well”, the beach attendant said, “these people (meaning us) wanted us to set it up here.”

Shit — here it comes.

Karen immediately called the manager. The 20-something beach manager walked out. Said nothing to us, and told Karen more umbrellas were coming. “We are going to be setting people up along this row for the next several hours.”

Karen complained for the next 2 hours. Stopping the beach attendants each time they walked passed and asked them to remove more umbrellas. They did not and soon our “row” was full.

Drinking on the sand

The wife and I immediately ordered drinks. Mai Tai’s with enough rum to unstubborn a mule. Margaritas with enough tequila to stop a charging bull.

Having won our beachhead against the enemy Karen, like Churchill we had to fight them on the beaches, fight the Karens in the streets… We were defending our little island of freedom. I got under the umbrellas and covered my west side with a towel. Passed out. Woke up two hours later.

Karen was talking about leaving at 4:30.

The wife awoke from her nap in the sun.

“Ready to go?”

Mission accomplished — we had held out for almost all of the Karen stay.

“Yes.”

We left our towels on the chairs, hoping the attendants would think we are coming back and leave those umbrellas up until the tide rolled in.

As we reached the air conditioning of the hotel room, I knew. “Damn it, my forehead is on fire.”

Two days later, and after 5 minutes on the Google, I figured out that it had to be the reflection off the sand. I’m not stupid enough to get a sun burn. This… this was a sand burn.

And almost worth it — you fucking beach Karen.