wet kisses

We have been kissed by the rain god.

Not a big, wet kiss on the mouth, mind you.  More like one of those pecks-on-the-cheek from your favorite aunt.  But a kiss it is.

Like most of the tropics, our little beach has two seasons.  The dry season, when it is just that -- dry.  We live the lives of the Mexico tour posters.  Sand.  Surf.  Sun.  The type of sun where you enjoy being out and about.  That is about eight months of our year.

Somewhere around June, everything changes.  Well, not the surf and sand.  They are still there.  But our benevolent sun turns as malevolent as a teenager.

I noticed it in Puerto Vallarta when I was up there a week ago.  It was as if the fat guy sitting in the corner of the sauna, who never wears a towel -- but should, had just poured a gallon of water on the hot rocks.  There was no doubt that summer was upon us.  And thus started a week where the heat index hung around or above 100.

That type of heat and humidity defeat the sandman.  I could be sleepless in Melaque for the next four months.  But I won't.  Because we call this the wet season for a good reason.

On Sunday morning, my car had a few raindrops on it, and there were some small puddles in the street.  Best of all, the air was refreshingly cool.  It was our appetizer.  A taste of what is coming.

We will soon be having periodic downpours, and our sandy streets will make anyone nostalgic for Venice feel right at home.  It will feel so good that my neighbors will join me standing in the street with faces raised skyward, like a flock of turkeys, just to feel the relief of the water.

We may even hum that shamelessly commercial tune.  Sometimes, Mexico is a kiss on the skin.  And the rain certainly will qualify.