This month I changed my address to Sunny Side Av.
Well, to be quite honest, this month I got stuck in a nightmare called the Hamptons.
A lovely place surrounded by the ocean, filled with sun, beaches and three million dollar houses. Where every corner on the street, is as clean as a baby’s bum and every car shiny. The place, where rich New Yorkers are doing exactly the same thing that they have been doing on Madison Avenue. It’s just here they can spend their money wearing flip – flops.
I had my first Hamptons experience last year, and I don’t really recall it with sentiment. I walked around staring at the windows of the shops that I wish I could have afforded. I was seriously looking for something to do. I have to admit there are some cute Victorian houses that I adore, and some beautiful views that I took pictures of. Eventually I ended up spending 10$ on a slice of pizza, jumped in the car and drove back home, bored to death.
Hamptons is also very WHITE. In every meaning of white. Starting with fashion. I have never, EVER seen such an amount of white shirts, pants and shorts put together with leather sandals and designer sunglasses. Apparently white goes well with the boats, pools and overpriced menus.
The Hamptonians keep their heads up high and wallets thick. They‘re tanned, play tennis and golf. Some New York habits can be seen, especially with honking and screaming at each other, while driving through the tiny crossroads. Yesterday I sat in a park and listened to a conversation of two women next to me. One’s ten year old son took an online test, checking his parenting skills and scored very high. I don’t know about the child of the other woman, but if things don’t go perfectly enough they can always sue the preschool for not preparing the children for Harvard properly ( which actually happened ).
Settled three hours drive from New York, Hamptons seems like a different world. With no room for ugly, different, sad, imperfect and the worst - penniless. Since I’m stuck in here anyways, I’ll just lie on a hammock, counting that maybe in the future, my friends won’t abandon me, when after a nasty divorce I’ll lose my Upper East Side townhouse.