Confessions of a Beach Towel:
Tales from the Sand
As told by… your towel
Hello.
It’s me — your beach towel.
Yes, the towel.
The one currently full of sand, sunscreen, and at least three mysteries I’m choosing not to investigate.
I’ve been part of your holiday for exactly one day and honestly…
I’ve already lived a full, dramatic, award-winning life.
Let me explain.
Photo: G Walton (Ai enhanced) - Fridays at Three Collection
My Day Begins: The Dragging of Doom
Every morning starts the same way:
I’m yanked from my hook, flung over someone’s shoulder like a superhero cape, and marched toward Mission Beach with great purpose.
I feel important.
Valued.
Adventure-ready.
…until I’m dropped face-first into the sand because someone spotted a crab.
The Things I Have Endured
Today alone, I have been:
• A cape (10/10 hero points)
• A picnic blanket (sticky mango aftermath: 3/10)
• A sand-transport device (“Let’s move ALL the sand back to the house!”)
• A sibling weapon (I am NOT responsible for the tears)
• A pillow (comfortable, but the snoring was unnecessary)
• A shield from a kamikaze seagull (I deserved a medal for this)
• A dog drying station (the dog was very proud)
At one point, a toddler wrapped me around themselves like a burrito and announced, “I am the towel monster!”
I did not sign up for this.
My Encounters With Wildlife
I’ve seen things.
Beautiful things.
Unreasonable things.
Tide pools full of tiny fish planning tiny fish drama
A hermit crab parade marching over my corner
A lizard who definitely winked at me
A cassowary who inspected me twice (respectfully terrified)
A butterfly that landed on me for 0.0003 seconds and made everyone scream with joy
I’ve also been adopted by a friendly ant colony on two separate occasions.
We don’t talk about it.
Water: My Complicated Relationship
I don’t mind getting wet — it’s in my job description.
BUT.
There is a difference between “a refreshing saltwater dip” and
“I’ve been forcefully drowned by an excited child who insists I’m a surfboard.”
For the record:
I am not a surfboard.
I am not buoyant.
I am not built for ocean rodeos.
Yet every day… someone tries.
The Drying Ritual (aka: The Sunbathing Hour)
Eventually, I’m draped over a chair at Fridays at Three, flapping in the warm Mission Beach breeze like a faded flag of victory.
This is my moment.
My spa time.
My peaceful recharge.
I watch the palm trees sway.
I listen to the distant waves.
I feel the sun warming my soggy fibres.
Then someone sits on me while still wearing half the ocean.
The disrespect.
Dad’s Attempt to Fold Me
Every holiday features the same scene:
Dad: “I know how to fold a towel.”
Me: (bracing for impact)
Dad: produces a crumpled rectangle that looks like a defeated burrito
I pretend it’s okay.
It’s not okay.
But Here’s My Secret…
Despite the sand, the salt, the chaos, the fruit stains, the accidental puddle sitting, the dog incident, and the relentless Mission Beach wind trying to send me flying into the neighbour’s yard…
I absolutely love being your towel.
I get front-row seats to your holiday.
I feel the joy, the laughter, the silliness.
I witness treasure hunts, beach races, splash fights, and family moments you’ll remember forever.
I may be a towel…
but at Mission Beach?
I live my best life.
Planning a visit? Stay at Fridays At Three, located right on beautiful Wongaling Beach.