Imagine yourself on Cape Cod on a bright summer afternoon. The water looks perfect: glassy, blue, reflecting the clouds like it’s a computer screensaver. Suddenly, a dozen or so women burst onto the scene. Not one is a day under 65, and they’re zipping themselves into wetsuits and spitting into their masks (to prevent fogging) before slipping beneath that pretty blue surface to retrieve all the secrets the pond’s been hiding: beer cans, golf balls, a car tire, and once, an 80-pound toilet.
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