"Campbell Bain, get back here!"

The boy in question looked back at you from twenty feet away with a guilty expression, not unlike a puppy who snarfed down a treat before he was allowed.

"Does the word 'sunscreen' mean nothing to you? How about 'sunburn'?"

His cheeks went pink, and he offered you a lopsided grin, shuffling back to where you stood in the sand with the blanket, umbrella, and other beach goodies.

"Aye, they do, lass. Sorry about that. But ye cannae blame me; it's been ages since I've been to the beach! So what if sunscreen isn't the first thing on my mind?"

Oh, give it a rest. You roll your eyes fondly and hold out the tote bag containing the sunscreen bottle.

"Here. Start putting that on, and I'll get your back, Marshmallow McGee."

He takes the bag, and while he's rooting around inside for the bottle of greasy sunscreen, you manage to get the umbrella up and in the sand. At the same time, you note the near-emptiness of the beach. You've come early, about as early as possible without beating the lifeguards. Awesome. Less reason to be worried about people nabbing your stuff.

You're broken out of your reverie by a glowing white flash directly in front of your eyes, accompanied by a slippery bottle of sunblock being thrust into your hands.

"Okay, the rest o' me is done! Grease me up an' set me free!"