When Beth and I were married way back in the halcyon days of 1995, we honeymooned in Cancun. We went to the Club Med there (tacky, yes, but screw you, we had a blast), where they had activities out the wazoo to tempt young honeymooners away from their connubial in-room festivities. Me, I was having none of it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t having much of Beth either. I had a snorkel, you see, and I knew how to use it, and that’s about all I wanted to do.

Every day, I was up at the crack of whenever I woke up and out the door to snorkel the reef. I’d snorkel all morning, break for lunch, then get back to my snorkeling until late afternoon. I’d wade out for a few minutes of vague, distracted conversation with Beth, then back in for more snorkeling until sunset. I’m afraid I wasn’t much of a newly minted husband to Beth that week, but the barracuda and angelfish on the reef loved me. And I got a great tan, too — on my back half, at least. Because, you know, that’s the part that was facing the sun. Everything below the waterline — face, chest, front half of arms and legs — came away pasty white. It was a look.

So, yeah, I like snorkeling. And I’m about to do more of it. Beth and Zoe and me are heading out on vacation tomorrow. We’re spending a few days with Beth’s mother in Florida (groan), then we’re taking a cruise. In the Caribbean. With stops at Montego Bay and Grand Cayman and Cozumel, excellent snorkeling spots all. Snorkel Boy is poised to return.

Stand by for mid-vacation updates from time to time … if I come out of the water long enough.

“Snork! Snork!”