Life's a beach

How can I say this without sounding obnoxious?

I.... no, that won't work.

For the...  no, still not right.

Here goes:
I spent the day at the beach.  I'm house-sitting for two weeks, and the house being sat happens to be near one of the most beautiful sand beaches.

I know, right?  You worked all day, or the sky was grey, or the children kept you up all night, and there I was, indolently splashing through the surf.  I'm sorry, and I promise I didn't enjoy it very much at all.

Well, I did actually, until I got bitten by something on the tip of my nose.  I can see the bite now, out of the corner of my eye as I look at the monitor while I'm typing. It's become almost a life form of its own, and I may have to register it for its own postal code before long.  I'm sure the two men behind the butcher counter in the grocery store were chuckling up their sleeves after handing me three country sausages for $2. I know the lady in the canned fruit aisle kept looking at me, while the cashier did her very best not to. I get to the point where I've convinced myself it's like Cindy Crawford's mole only on my nose, until I look in the mirror to see Rudolf's red blinker that nobody is about to pay me $10,000 to get out of bed for a picture of.  The man came today to mow the lawn, and I'm sure he thought I was a nut when I popped outside to wave at him, holding the other hand over my face.

I've heard that you can get away with wearing anything, so long as you wear it confidently - and my red nose is very, very confident.