Swimsuit Actually

Can we talk about the pool? I like the place–I hate water; but I like the place. There is the smell of chlorine; the tanning beer-gutted fathers; the children frolicking in the seriously too warm kiddie pool–someone better install a Piss-O-Meter in there, I swear, because if I ever walk over there and see a yellow cloud in the water I will not think one of those kids coughed up chalk.

As well, some perks can include girls…for me, at least.

I did not used to think this way: call it a supernatural hormonal imbalance, or whatever doctors are saying they put in our milk cartons these days–by the way I am calling bullshit on the whole hormones give you unnatural body thingies; for one I have not received any radioactive spider powers and I still don’t have a six pack. You suck, Hormone Milk.

Back to girls–that is probably what is drawing most of the attention to this post.

I am a generally self conscious guy. I can still throw off my shirt with the best of them; however the idea of doing so around…ahem, members of the opposite sex, is a tad frightening–I lie awake in a cold sweat and dream of their horrendous laughter…all night…

Thankfully I have somewhat overcome this social barrier–that sounds like serious psychologist vocabulary—and am adjusting to hanging around the pool, most of time by my lonesome; but in rare cases I attend this special spot with friends and family.

It so happens, and this is by no means coincidental–well, maybe a little–that on a particular expedition to the pool I went with…a member of the opposite sex; however her real name is Crush.

Yes, I hear the concealed giggles in the crowd tonight–and do not think I will not boot you out on to the street. This is a serious thing, you hear me? It is so serious that, on this day, I was scareder than a scaredy cat–and that is saying something.

So, here I am, going into the pool and she comes out wrapped in a towel the moment I submerge. Nearly I go down into the water–notice I said nearly–and yet I stay my hand and ride out the fear; in this case fear is a giant motorcycle rimmed with spikes and flamethrowers gunning it down the pavement at never-ending miles per hour.

That’s right. I am not a coward. I stayed my hand.

While doing so I become chilled to the bone–

The wise guy say what? I was in a pool? A cold pool? Get out of here! Go on!

Anyway, while doing so I become chilled to the bone and think to myself: boy, did that bagel I ate this morning stick in my stomach and give me a weird bagel shaped lump? I hoped not; but we cannot always predict the strange crap in our lives–otherwise we’d all be underpaid psychics.

Crush enters the water; she swims a ways in and floats about.

At this point I tell myself, Okay…do I or do I not look at her? To do the latter might convey avoidance and the other–I feared we would meet eyes and I would again become chilled–

Enough with telling me how temperature works! I know it was cold water!

You get the point. I did eventually look at her, despite the voices in my head warning me against such an action; and I found out quickly that she was stunning…then there was me, flapping around like some kind of demented Flounder and concealing myself beneath the water…the warm water.

Got to get those Piss-O-Meters up and running soon.

But the experience had to be a building moment; so I ponied up and surfaced and floated around; and who knows if my cheeks were stark red, maybe they were. I smiled at her. She smiled back.

Did I feel like I owned the world right then? You betcha.

It was the first time at the pool I had supreme confidence; and here is to hoping there are many more moments which inspire similar feelings in the near or distant future–more so betting on the near.

But, hey, we can’t all be psychics; the world would go nuts.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

Note: Apologies about the seeming lateness; however there was a malfunction with the posting and I had to figure out how to fix it. It ended up taking a while…

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