That awkward moment when you decide to visit the hot tub for the first time on your vacation because the night you arrived, you were exhausted after a two-hour drive and six-hour flight, and the second night you were caught up in your cribbage tournament, so the third night in, you take 5 minutes to wriggle into your bathing suit—looking forward to quality time with the husband because there is not a soul in the hot tub—and you go outside only to discover it’s raining, and you start to turn around and head back in, but instead, tell yourself not to be a weenie, square your shoulders, and skip over to the entrance of the pool, only to be told by a lady leaving that the hot tub is broken.
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