May 26, 2009
I have a love-hate relationship with the fourth week in May. It is during this period every year that I renew my membership to the community pool; it is also the weekend that I am reacquainted with other pool patrons. Two years ago, I left the registration line after waiting for forty minutes because the woman in front of me had a braid down to her knees and armpit hair.
"I can't swim with that!" I cried to my husband.
"Why do you care?" he replied. "You never go in the pool!"
After reminding me that it was just my children who would be swimming with Rapunzel, I got back into line.
Last summer, I obsessed over a middle-aged man with chest hair that rose over his shoulder blades like a tidal wave and poured down his back.
This year, I'm worried that the man who swims in his jeans and t-shirt is going to bother me.
"You're no prize yourself," my husband pointed out. He held up one of my tankini swimsuits as proof.
I disregarded my husband's opinion of the community pool patrons and my fashion sense as uninformed and unfairly biased.
"They probably pee in the pool," I grumbled.
"They wouldn't be the first," my husband said. That's when he reminded me of the hot July day three summers ago when one of ours pulled down his pants at the edge of the kiddie pool and urinated into the water.
Does anyone feel the need to confess?