I was going to paddle out and float on the lake with my beer, but when I opened the shed, I discovered that someone had ripped a hole in it. I texted Sarah to see if she knew anything about it, and for some reason, despite her bringing large groups of teens there several times since my last visit, she couldn't even contemplate the idea that one of them might have done it. "We don't swim or float, we kayak." Yeah, no kidding, the tear is paddle-shaped, and there were several of them piled on my float. Give me a break. By the end of our text chain, her lack of willingness to even entertain the idea that one of the many kids did it, was actually more disappointing than the rip, and it cast a pall over the afternoon.
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