Après plage - ruminations on gîte bathrooms

A typical Nico day where he make plans, then I realise it's Sunday and it's 11.30 a.m and the shops will shut in half an hour.

The hypermarché is packed and I just want to be done with the shopping and be by the sea but Leclerc is huge, we don't know where anything is and it seems to take an eternity.

We drive to the end of the harbour and watch the ocean.  Huge waves are breaking further up the coast so we take the dune road, like storm chasers,  and find the spot.  

Nico watches the surfers, but I'm shortsighted and can't see them, so go down to the shore and throw Bernie driftwood into the waves. 

Back at the gite I undress in the shower.  My jeans have a thigh high salt line.  I rinse the sand from my Crocs and my feet down the plug hole.  I try out every shower gel that everyone who's ever stayed here has left. 

Nico downs a cuba libre and takes a shower.  He asks me if he smells like a lagoon.  I realise I'm not sure what a lagoon actually is let alone what it smells like, but some chemical company somewhere has managed to concoct a mixture of gloopy blue shower gel and have cleverly caught the fragrance of a lagoon.