I can still hear the shower running. Sophia’s been in there almost an hour now, and I fear all that scrubbing will leave a nasty rash if she doesn’t get out soon. If there’s a moral to this story, it must be: some people aren’t meant to swim.
We’ve lived in a pool and tennis association for the past five years. Though I’ve used both facilities on numerous occasions (in an effort to get my money’s worth from the absurd annual recreation dues), my wife hasn’t deigned to dip even a single toe into our aquatic paradise, until today. I’m not quite sure why she hadn’t previously partaken of the watery pleasures; she knows how to swim (more or less); and she claims to enjoy the activity. Yet before finally getting cornered this afternoon, she’d always managed to disappear, every time I grabbed a beach towel.
I happened to be kicking the vending machine – trying to extricate the half-dropped Snicker’s Bar I’d already paid for – when the screaming began. Thus, I didn’t personally witness the unfortunate occurrence. Yet despite the difficulties of interpreting frantic and nearly incoherent ramblings, I believe I can paint a fairly accurate picture of the events.
Sophia had waded into the pool at last. To her surprise, she enjoyed the sensation of the warm, soothing waters. She even began questioning why she’d waited so long to take her inaugural dip. After a short while, her pleasure and confidence grew, to the extent she submerged herself completely, and commenced a brief underwater exploration of the surrounding area.
In the midst of her wandering in the deeps (eyes tightly shut), Sophia felt a soft, unfamiliar object brush across her forehead. Reflexively, her eyes popped open, and she peered about, attempting to identify the obstacle with which she’d collided, and to ascertain whether any other similar (or more dangerous) items lined her path. It took her several seconds, but she succeeded in putting a name to the thing she’d already bumped into, and confirmed the presence of a good deal more of the same in her immediate vicinity. That’s when she shot out of the water, like one of those dolphins you see on the National Geographic Channel, screaming for all she was worth.
Our Association suffers a few incidents every summer. No matter the warnings; no matter the inconvenience to our entire community; and no matter the cost involved. At some point during each pool season, as yet unidentified parents let their toddlers swim without rubber diapers, and one of the potty-challenged tykes poops in the middle of the pool, where the offending substance sits, and often spreads, until either a lifeguard or some unsuspecting swimmer happens to discover it, or worse, bump into it … like today, for instance.
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