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Auntie Sandy Shorts

There are fewer sand dollars on this part of the beach.

One auntie takes Cory’s hand to move her further out into the water. Quincy Pup, the ocean air and breaking waves singing to her canine soul the whole day, romps out and promptly knocks Cory onto her bottom in the water.

With help, she stands up. She wails. She runs dripping straight to Daddy.
D (hand patting her back): Cory, it’s okay. That Quincy didn’t know. (Trying to laugh it off.) She was just playing, and besides, Mr. Sun will dry your clothes so super quick…

She’s inconsolable at the prospect of having wet clothes on a beautiful, sunny, 80ish degree day at the, you know, beach. Horrible. Just horrible.

Realizing that words will not be equal to this task, a second auntie marches over, takes Cory’s hand, and moves her even more reluctantly out to about the same depth of water, where an entirely predictable, actually expected, gentle little wave somehow knocks an adult to her knees. She wails, and laughs, as cold, salty Pacific Ocean water soaks her shorts.

Still holding her hand, Cory’s face breaks into a smile. A couple of “mishaps” and some commentary about sand in the underwear and Cory is transformed into a water nymph.

Aunties are good things.

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