A GLITTERTREES EXCLUSIVE. ONLY $15 EACH.
Introducing Tropicalhowie Reskin Laptop sleeves for Creative Souls.
Made in Australia, each Tropicalhowie Laptop sleeve is limited edition and available exclusively on GlitterTrees for a limited time only.
This sleeve comes printed with the Swimwear reskin and the story behind ‘Swimwear’ printed on the inside of the sleeve.
Once this Swimwear design is sold out, it is gone forever. Get your hands on one quick!
Tropicalhowie laptop sleeves are made from high quality 5mm neoprene, finished with a unique ‘L’ zip for speedy pack up. They are custom sized to tightly fit Mac laptops. Please check the sizing guide to select the best size for your Mac or PC.
Each Tropicalhowie design is limited to 750 sleeves. Moments are not mass produced. So neither is Tropicalhowie. Once these designs are sold out, they are gone forever. Each of these sleeves comes with the story behind ‘Swimwear’ printed inside.
A GlitterTrees Exclusive First-time Published
“Look after what’s inside you, and look after it well. Whatever inspiration you’ve got buried on your laptop, keep at it, because that’s where the sun shines.”
Tropical Howie Laptop Sleeves are made in Australia and all limited edition.
Moments are not mass produced. And neither is Tropicalhowie.
DISCOVER THE SWIMWEAR STORY
I hadn’t been stung until the summer of my eleventh year. Until then, my older brother and I had taken our parents’ advice. We spent those eternal beach days with our heads down, conscientiously side-stepping the bluebottles, as if their tiny pillows of gas threatened to blow off our limbs like a landmine. We threw jellyfish at each other’s heads, squashed them in each other’s faces with glee, but the bluebottles were another story.
In my eleventh summer my brother degenerates into a monosyllabic beach spectator. Our usual antics – sandbank jumping, skim boarding, digging holes that old blokes with metal detectors could potentially fall into – all cease inexplicably. He buys a pair of Bad Boy wrap-around sunglasses and refuses to build sandcastles; it seems he has lost his mind.
“Look at them,” he says.
“What about them?”
“Look – all of them! I’m going to kiss one. You can help.”
The untouchables, as my brother calls them, are exclusive to the surf club boys. These are a species of decidedly un-pasty boys who bound through the waves with mocking ease. The girls skulk around them, sandy and beautiful and laughing and flicking towels just like in the Rip Curl catalogue. My brother takes to pointing out his favourites from a distance – tutoring me – and he is starting to make sense.
He points out the way their lithe bodies glisten as they jump in the surf and the strong smell of coconut that lingers off them down-breeze. The way that if we watch for long enough we could maybe see them do a beach change and the way they rest on their elbows to tan their bellies. We spend whole mornings watching those untouchable striped bikinis. We become parched and salty. The waves are a cool relief after hours of enduring our newfound irritation.
One week into the holiday and my brother cracks.
“Kick it right at them,” he says. “I’ll knock it out of the way at the last second.”
“What if I miss?”
“Just kick it! Come on – kick it now or else…”
I grip the football, take my run-up along the hard sand and grit my teeth as I send the ball careening far off to the left of the group of girls. The bluebottle pops underfoot like bubble-wrap and the sound of my brother swearing fizzles into the heat of the day.
Dad jogs up to the surf club while I twist around in pain, sucking in the air like blowing out candles on rewind, cursing my brother. One of the untouchables walks over. In the background I see my brother’s gawping eyes as she leans over and hands me a can of Pasito to put on my foot while I wait for the ice.
The toxins stop running amok in my leg and the cool can constricts my blood vessels, and with one of the untouchables there – her coconut smell and her wet hair enough to wipe out my peripheral vision – all I can think is that the sting has been replaced with something incurable.
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