If there's intelligent life observing us, and if they are paying attention to those of us relaxing along the shore line of tis fine planet, they must think we have some very interesting bathing rituals.
First, we begin our cleansing rite by dallying along the sandy shore, splashing, swimming, riding the waves, and invariably excoriating our skin on the aforementioned sand. That same sand sticks to our skin and becomes helpfully lodged in all the important places that need a good cleaning: armpits, knees, toes, etc.
Secondly, we rinse from the ocean and often undergo a chemical dip in the pool, like so many bar glasses getting their trip through the sanitizer. The behavior here may also involve some intermediate drying time in the sun.
Finally, we remove ourselves to our private quarters wherein we peel off our bathing costumes, shake out the excess sand, and proceed to scrub all our toes and knees and et cetera clean of dirt, sweat, chlorine, sand, and any small shells mixed in with the sand.
I had this thought after clumps of sand came falling out of my suit as I made for the shower, making sure all the sand was well out of my et cetera, remnants of my victorious shell hunting excursion in the surf. Though buffeted and tossed by the unusually strong wave action I came away with some really neat shells. Here's hoping my nephews like them.
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