When I travel, I seem to become irrationally stubborn about spending money. On my first solo road trip to the East Coast I not only lived on cheese crackers and oranges, I refused to stay in a hotel. For someone who does not know many people in Savannah, GA, this meant I had to sleep in my car.
This sounded doable. The free spirits I know regularly sleep in their cars to cut down on travel costs, after all. However, it did not occur to me that this also meant I had to find an alternative way of bathing. I considered dunking my head under gas station sinks, but the condition of the gas station sinks I encountered was questionable. In my mind, the only option left was to bathe in the Atlantic Ocean upon arrival. Clearly.

For those of you who grew up in the proximity of a large body of salt water, this may sound absurd. As a native of the midwest, I thought this idea was magical. In all actuality the only thing I found magical was how voluminous the sea left my hair. Other than that, I felt dirtier than before I soaped and shampooed. In the waves.

I’m so happy no one I knew was around to witness my ridiculousness.