When I was 10 years old and visiting my first beach they were all I could think about. I had come prepared with my own bucket and spade, ready to take on any challenge that may come my way. The first obstacle presented itself almost immediately after I jumped out of the car. My wheelchair is my mode of transport, but it refused to trudge through the sand, leaving me with two options:
I’ve stared at a wide range of butts in my day. I apologize if that sounds crass, but it’s my reality. Anytime I am sitting in my wheelchair with someone standing in front of me, the first thing my eyes have to focus on is someone else’s derriere. To say the least, it’s not exactly my favorite view.
Cobblestones are the WORST. They suck, they hurt, and they are absolutely EVERYWHERE in Europe. As a passenger, your discomfort is defined by how spread apart each individual stone is. The closer they sit together, the more likely it is that you will receive an all-expenses-paid, skin-tingling, muscle-vibrating butt massage. Now, before you get too excited by this seemingly wonderful gift, I must warn you of the long term consequences of this situation.
My unprotected eyes are burning in the mid-afternoon sun. My black leggings provide the perfect disguise for the ever growing amount of swass that is pooling in my wheelchair. My mouth feels so dry, I feel like if I don’t drink water soon, I may begin to resemble the dried-up, Spongebob meme that is always making its rounds on Tumblr.
At the ripe age of 10 years old, I had the privilege of traveling to Washington D.C. with my family on summer vacation. Being the bratty pre-teen that I was, for most of the trip, all I cared about was how hot it was outside. There was a specific MELTdown at the National Archives building that I’d prefer to never think about again.
Even with sweat-induced rage pulsing through my veins at almost every hour of the day, I still managed to create one intense, positive memory.