"Did you hit your head?"

Remain in the water to cover yourself while you assess the situation.

Ah, the joys of swimming in the ocean. The feeling of weightlessness, the rush of the waves, and the thrill of possibly encountering a marine creature or two. But, as many a beachgoer can attest, there's a darker side to swimming in the sea. One that involves, quite literally, losing a vital article of clothing. Yes, you read that right: .

If you feel the tug,

Q: Are certain types of swimwear more prone to being sucked off? A: Yes, certain types of swimwear may be more prone to being sucked off. Loose-fitting or poorly designed swim trunks, as well as those made from lightweight or fragile materials, may be more susceptible to being caught in the current.

“This isn’t happening. I am still wearing them. I just can’t feel my legs because the water is cold. Yep. Definitely still dressed.” (Reality check: You reach down and touch bare thigh. Denial collapses.)

To overcome these feelings, Dr. Smith recommends a combination of self-care, support from loved ones, and, in some cases, professional counseling.

A teenage lifeguard named Chad noticed my distress. Chad was seventeen, wore mirrored sunglasses, and had probably never experienced a moment of vulnerability in his life.

While there's no foolproof way to prevent swim trunks from getting sucked off, there are a few things you can do to minimize the risk:

I, meanwhile, continued floating down the lazy river. Naked. Pale. Mortified.

And if the unthinkable does happen, just remember: it's not the end of the world. You'll survive, and you'll likely have a funny story to tell. As for your missing trunks? Well, that's just a small price to pay for the joy of swimming in the ocean.

If you find yourself in this situation, here is a quick-action guide to recovering your dignity. 1. The Immediate Freeze

To ensure you never have to write a Google search for “my swimming trunks have been sucked off,” follow these rules:

If doing active water sports, consider shorter, more fitted trunks rather than long, baggy boardshorts. Remove Old Mesh:

The next morning I walked by the water again, more cautiously and with a new respect for the sea’s sense of humor. The trunks had been recovered — found tangled on a buoy, waves making them obstinate in a tiny, textile-sized rebellion. They smelled of brine and sun, a smell that now carried the faint metallic tang of embarrassment and the light sweetness of a story survived. I tossed them back into the drawer with a little more fondness and a marginally better folding technique.