I Am a Huge Fan of Water Parks and I Need a New Haircut
I’m exclusively a water park girlie, got it?
Thank you so much for taking me on as a new client — Astrid, right? Hi. I need a cute yet low-maintenance haircut that fits with my lifestyle. Let me get right to it: My hair routine needs to be as efficient and streamlined as possible because — more often than not — I’m doing it on the way down a water slide with a hotel bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner hidden in my custom retrofitted bikini top. Whenever I’m not at work, I’m at a water park.
And yes, I really mean that. I travel a lot, and I’m an annual pass holder at every Wet ‘n Wild and Six Flags Hurricane Harbor location in the country — plus Blizzard Beach, Zoom Flume, Splish Splash, Splash Splish, Really Really Wet World, and about a dozen others. I love water parks. My name is Marina, sure, but don’t come at me with any other water-adjacent form of recreation. Fuck piers; fuck boats; fuck the ocean. I’m exclusively a water park girlie, got it?
I put in at least three hours before work every single day. It’s pure bliss. The waiting in line, the smell of sunscreen, the exhausted families, the rage-filled children, the chili dogs, the puke scattered like a field of stars. I become the eye of a storm, economical, slicing my way through my optimized park plan, pure muscle and form. If the park hours allow, I’m back for three to four hours in the evening.
Weekends are for romance. I hop on Water Park Friend Finder and there’s usually an adventurous freak or two who wants to blow my whistle in the showers. Do I, one day, hope to find a Mr. or Mrs. Freak to balance the other side of my tube float? Sure. But I’ve got standards. Anyone who wants to be a part of my life needs to respect my daily need for slide-maxxing. If you can’t handle me at a water park, you don’t deserve me at a water park.
And let me tell you, when you truly commit to the water park lifestyle, there will be naysayers. “Oh, you’re wasting your life.” Okay, remind me how much lore you’ve absorbed on the extended universe of The Bachelor while I’m out in nature. “Oh, why would an adult woman ever go to a water park by herself?” Thank you for that, Kayla. How’s the trial separation going? “Oh, this little hobby of yours is outrageously expensive.” Well, money is fake, but guess what’s real? Do I need to spell it out? Water parks. Water parks are real.
No, no, it’s all fine, I promise. I appreciate your sympathy, Astrid, I really do. Those of us in the water park game, we have to develop a thick skin. From the insults hurled by the non-parkers, and from the friction burns.
I intend to give birth in the world’s largest wave pool in Abu Dhabi. And when I die, I’ve arranged for my remains to be liquified. My future child will, in a ceremony of my design, pour a Gatorade bottle of this “me juice” into the nearest lazy river ride. The location’s not important for this. Who knows — I could end up in the one you’re thinking about right now. The water in those things just gets filtered and reused, so I’ll be circulating for — at minimum — several years. Returned to the source, merging in rapturous communion with the bandaids and loose scabs.
So yeah. I hope you understand the gravity of your task today, Astrid. Water parks and hair are unfortunately quite bad for each other. If your haircuts were athletes, would they qualify for the Olympics? If your haircuts were plants, would they thrive in extreme conditions guaranteed to kill all other life? What I mean is — can you give me a look I can style with a generous infusion of chlorine and actually way less pee than you might think?
Kara Phelps is a writer based in North Carolina. You can follow her on Bluesky (@karaph) and on Instagram (@carafe_helps).
