Sometimes the mo(i)st unwelcome surprises in life sneak up from behind.
In arid Calgary where we used to live, rain is infrequent and everything dries fast afterward, so it’s difficult to inadvertently sit on something that will drench your drawers. But here on Vancouver Island, it rains more, it rains longer, and everything stays wet even though it looks dry.
So when we moved out here, I adjusted my habits accordingly: I always check outdoor surfaces before sitting down. But (and it’s a wet butt) the West Coast has sneaky ways to soak my skivvies despite my precautions.
F’rinstance, there’s the rogue wave that caught me unawares while I was crouched in the shallows checking out the contents of a tide pool. One minute I’m warm and dry and utterly absorbed in watching the little aquatic critters; and the next minute I get butt-slapped by icy ocean water. (And immediately after that, I squelched rapidly back to my car hoping nobody would notice that I’d apparently peed my pants.)
But I learned that lesson fast; and after nearly two years out here, I was starting to feel pretty complacent about my ability to identify situations that might dampen my derrière.
That mossy log that feels dry to the touch? Nope. It’s dry on the surface, but moss holds water like a sponge. It’s just waiting to humidify my haunches.
That chair placed welcomingly on the deck in the early-morning sunshine? Nope again. It’s covered by a thick but virtually invisible layer of dew.
So the other day I found a plastic Adirondack chair out in the sun on a fine afternoon. It hadn’t rained for a day, but I swiped my hand across the seat just to be certain. Dry.
I sank into the chair, stretching out my legs and admiring the sweeping mountain view over a vivid green golf course. Birds sang and fluffy clouds drifted by in the blue sky. Ahhhh. Heaven.
I eased back to take advantage of the perfect reclining angle and discovered (butt-first, of course) that plastic Adirondack chairs retain a pool of rainwater in a deep groove right where the back meets the seat. In this case, my seat.
So there I was, on my way to a birthday party in jeans with a big and highly-visible wet spot on the ass. With, of course, no time to go home and change.
So the Wet Coast won again; but now I’ve figured out all its tricks – my butt won’t be its joke again!
Book 14 update: I made it to the middle of Chapter 19 this week against all odds (it was a very busy week). Hoping for some quality writing time this week!