Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 11501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 58(@200wpm)___ 46(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 58(@200wpm)___ 46(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
“They were advertised on one of the brochures.” I’d been slightly persuaded by the cute little cartoon fish in the ad, but now I sensed I might have been swindled. “Does yours smell like fish? Mine smells a little like fish.”
Hale sniffed the rubbery material. “Mine smells fine.”
I held up my mismatched flippers. “Why?”
“They probably just lost one.”
I frowned. Were swimmers returning one fin short? What happened to the other flipper? Was the foot okay? “Are there sharks here?”
“You’ll be fine, Rayne. As soon as we’re in the water you won’t be able to smell anything and you’ll be so captivated by the beauty your worries will wash away.”
That didn’t sound like me. How did one launder a rubber wetsuit?
Hale pulled on his gear and looked like a model in a watersports catalog. I looked like a short, chubby porpoise who would only get cast as the comic relief in a Pixar movie.
“Oh, this is not flattering.”
Hale laughed in an aren’t-you-cute-and-clueless way. I pursed my lips and scowled. This was not going as I’d imagined.
“The water’s warm, Rayne. If you want, skip the wetsuit and go in your suit.”
But I wanted to look cool like him. Plus, Hale would be watching me through goggles so I preferred to keep my buoyant parts covered.
“I just need you to zip me up. My string’s broken.”
Hale had gotten the Mercedes of snorkel gear and I was rocking a 1970’s jalopy with rusted parts. I pulled on my mismatched flippers and waddled forward then stilled, looking around.
What was that?
I took another few steps along the deck, each one making a squishy fart sound. When I turned back to look at Hale I knew he heard it too.
“My wetsuit’s farting!”
“Are you sure it’s the suit?”
“That’s not me!”
“Of course not. Come on.” He walked past me, not a bit of waddle to his steps and no embarrassing sounds coming from his gear.
I thought things would improve underwater, but I was wrong. I couldn’t get my mask to seal tightly around my hair, so water continuously leaked into my eyes. I had a limp snorkel which caused me to choke on unwanted drops of water.
“Let me see it,” Hale said, stopping his majestic underwater tour to investigate the problem. “Everything looks fine.”
But it wasn’t fine. “My snorkel has erectile dysfunction.”
“We’ll switch.”
Once I had Hale’s mask on there was no more leaking or limp snorkel business, but my mask kept fogging up. Losing vision underwater made me panic, which made the fog worse. Maybe I was claustrophobic.
“Go,” I garbled at Hale, who floated majestically about like King Freaking Triton.
I knew he wanted to explore and I was holding him up. Obviously, snorkeling wasn’t for me. I found the entire experience rather fatiguing and humiliating.
A school of fish rushed past me and I panicked, bubbles shooting out of my wet suit. I must have made a sound of distress because Hale turned. He pointed the underwater camera in my direction, capturing video. That’s when I saw a huge fucking jellyfish and was pretty sure I pissed myself.
Something to look forward to on the home movies.
When we returned to land, I was beyond relieved. Hale looked rejuvenated and happy with his gift. How could two people experience one thing so differently?
I waddled back to the dock, my suit farting with every step. I was more than ready to return to the tiki bar on the beach and file snorkeling away as shit I never wanted to do again.
Hale took my hand. “Thanks for arranging that.”
“You’re welcome.” Had he made the arrangements, I probably would have had more fun and a wetsuit that didn’t queef. “Did you get some good footage?”
“I did. Take a look.” He tipped the screen of the camera, using the shade of the palm trees to block the glare of the sun.
I expected to see coral reefs and exotic fish, but what I saw was a montage of myself, exploring underwater. My hair was wild and waving like a mermaid’s and my body looked perfectly fine. I looked…cute.
“You didn’t record any of the fish.”
“I got footage of all the beauty I wanted to remember.”
I looked up at him and smiled. “Hale...”
“What?”
I gave him a shoulder bump, my secret handshake, and code for I love you.
He kissed my damp head. “What do you say we get you a cocktail and have a long shower followed by a longer nap.”
“I’d say now you’re speaking my language.”
After Maldives came Seychelles where we stayed in a luxurious treehouse in the lush, tropical forests overlooking the Indian Ocean. There had been a lot of afternoon rain which led to lots of afternoon sex—my kind of adventuring.
Hale had mentioned zip lining but, on account of the weather, I dodged that bullet safely. Thank God.
When we boarded our next flight my hair had grown twice its usual size. “You’re staring.”