And then see a sign that says "Sandbridge" with an arrow...
And then say, "Oh, hell," forget about veggies, and follow it.
That's how Anouk and I ended up at Sandbridge beach a couple of weeks ago, completely unprepared, with no bathing suits, no towels, no sand toys, nada. I admit there was a moment when I pulled into the beach access parking when I thought about how there would be no salad for dinner and how full of sand my just-cleaned car was going to get and I almost turned around. But I could already hear the waves from inside the car, and the temptation was too strong. I had to get down to the beach, right away.
And so down to the beach we went.
It's been so many years since I went to Sandbridge that I almost forgot it was there. But now I remember how much I love it. The waves are so wild and strong and thrilling. You have to get in the car and really drive to get there, which makes it feel a little like vacation to go. But unlike the vacation beach experience, there's no boardwalk, no penny-printing machines, no errant french-fry containers littering the sand. There's just beach, and waves, and water, and houses with names, like Sun Haven and Angel of the Sea, which appeals to the Green Gables in me. 
(Speaking of beach houses, there were a ton more than I remembered and one very raw, very new-looking condo building, which worried me slightly because it made me fear that those french-fry containers aren't far behind and the sight of one in Sandbridge might break my heart. But for that day, at least, we were safe.)
And speaking of sand, if I dislike it, then Baby Anne makes up for it. She likes sand approximately 15,000% more than I ever will.
We went home tired and slightly sunburned, the car was sandier than I ever could have imagined a car could get, and to top things off, we got caught in base traffic on the way back. But sometimes the best part of the day is the unexpected detour. I stand by that.
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