It was raining when we got to the much anticipated Coki Beach, but a guy with red dreadlocks and bloodshot eyes who was trying to sell me a $12 grilled cheese sandwich pinky swore me that it would stop soon. He lied. Stoners, man. You just can't trust 'em anymore. However, the thing about rain when you're in the Caribbean is that it doesn't matter that much. It's like the lines on a Saturday morning at Krispy Kreme; in 15 minutes you're still going to get a hot donut so what's the hassle? I kept glancing up at the grey clouds spitting droplets onto my paperback and sat amused thinking, "Sorry tropical storm, you're going to have to try harder." Apparently the storm didn't know that the alternative to my being on the beach that day was doing dishes at home while Good Luck Charlie played in the background as my kids ignored their summer homework. It also probably helped that my parents never fed me the line about rain being God's tears that He shed over my mistakes or that could have been a serious buzzkill. In that case I may have exerted the effort to get up from my chaise to shake my fist at the sky and yell, "All right, all RIGHT! I promise to call my mom as soon as I get home and confess that I DID call and vote for those dancers on TV back in 1983 and that those charges on our phone bill were not bogus." (Hey, Mom? You maybe should have tried that line about God crying. Forgive me?)
To sum up: Never hang your hat on the pinky swear of a hungover beach bum, snorkeling in the rain is not the worst thing that could happen to a person, and Good Luck Charlie is trying to kill my dreams. The only thing that sucked on this island...their grilled cheese.