When it comes to joy, I'm all wet
Joyfully squinting into the sun. June 2025. The scene: Puerto Rico, June 2025. My spouse and I are halfway through a child-free tropical getaway together. I am sitting beach-side in a new, white, two-piece bathing suit. "Come swim!" my husband calls from the ocean where he floats. "The water's fine!" I demur. I swam in this bathing suit the day we arrived and discovered it is the exact opposite of quick-drying. Four days later, it's still damp, and I'm reluctant to soak it all over again. So I smile, shake my head "no," and return to my book. An hour passes. Undisturbed by children, I am absorbed in my reading. Then, out of nowhere, the skies open and dump a torrent of water on my idyllic beach scene. My husband and I dash back to our guesthouse for cover. We only partially succeed. Most of our things—chairs, towels, snacks, electronics—are now wet. Once the short storm passes, we repack our small items in more waterproof bags and head back to ...
