Oh sunscreen, you did me wrong. You did me real wrong.

Yesterday morning I woke up and still had the itch o’ death. Then I began to read comments that discussed things like flesh-eating bacteria and wool pea coat allergies and decided I should go to the doctor to rule out my imminent demise.

The official verdict is I had an allergic reaction to my sunscreen.

Oh Coppertone. You betrayed me in my quest to practice safe sun.

However, I will take the sunscreen allergy over the possibility that I am allergic to my new pea coat. That would be tragic.

The nice doctor offered to give me a shot, but I think the look on my face was the only answer he needed. Umm yeah, I’ll just be taking that prescription and anything you have in the way of a topical ointment.

Anyway, let’s revisit the trip to Port Aransas where I contracted my horrendous skin disease.

We arrived at the beach last Tuesday afternoon, unloaded all our supplies and headed for the ocean. I’ll be honest, the water was dirty even by Texas beach standards which aren’t high.

But our little surfer girl was ready to go.

She and her daddy even managed to catch some fish in their throw net.

And the fish were the perfect addition to the ecosystem I had been feverishly constructing while the Coppertone ate away the top layer of my skin.

The next morning, P and I knew we needed a game plan to ensure we weren’t back in the ocean before 9 a.m. because beach vacations are all about pacing yourself. So we went out to eat breakfast at the Island Cafe because what makes a girl feel bathing suit ready like a short stack of pancakes covered in syrup?

I may have also had a breakfast taco.

After that, we drove over to the docks to see all the fish that the fishermen had caught that morning. I’m telling you there is nothing like the smell of fish and fish guts to make you want to tie some cement blocks to your feet and throw yourself off the dock just to make the smell go away.

But Caroline is her father’s daughter and is not deterred by all the gross.

Here she is checking out the live bait. She really wanted to buy one of the shrimp to keep as a pet.

And here she is with her daddy, watching a man with questionable dental hygiene clean some fish.

Our last stop before we hit the beach was a souvenir shop with a large shark out front. Caroline wasn’t going to rest until she went inside the shark.

Then, it was back to the beach.

And because I am careful about limiting my sun exposure, I continually sprayed myself down with torture in a can.

On Thursday we packed up the truck and began the arduous journey home.

This is Caroline after we’d been on the road for 2.5 seconds.

I wanted to join her but felt like P needed moral support as he drove home. I also thought he might need someone to share the pre-packaged Bluebird Cherry Pie he bought at the Quikmart, but he didn’t even offer me a bite.

I can’t believe I am married to someone who eats pre-packaged cherry pies from a convenience store. They are just not up to the culinary standards of, say, a Grandma’s Chocolate-Chocolate Chip Cookie.

The rest of the way home, I spent my time commenting on the absurdity of all the Hurricane Evacuation Route signs along the way. It makes me proud to see our tax dollars hard at work pointing out common sense. In case of a hurricane you can either drive north or head straight into the ocean.

Thank you, TXDoT for that valuable information.

Too bad they don’t post warnings about potential sunscreen allergies. It would have saved me a tube of hydrocortisone, four bottles of Zyrtec, the shame of wearing jeans and a long-sleeve shirt to church in the middle of August, and a $35.00 co-pay at the emergency clinic.