Wednesday, 21 February 2007

Swimming again

We're ten minutes late. I've brought the old towel by accident which has a big hole in the side, and frayed edges. I wish I'd remember and just throw it out. And I still haven't replaced my worn-out flip flops so my feet have to touch the slimy tiles. I must be pulling a face that makes it look like I have an affliction.

Then when I finally get in the pool it's occupied by a man shaped like a pencil and a woman shaped like a blob of melted fudge. They spend quite a bit of time going through a routine that looks to me like it should have a triple X rating, and I rather wish they'd stop. I hope the children don't see, and spend some time swimming up and down in front of Pencil and Fudge so I can act as a curtain. It probably encourages Pencil and Fudge. They probably think they have a willing audience. At that thought I get upset, pull a very disapproving face, and consider getting the lifeguard who sits on top of the ladder to give them a ticking off. Then I reckon I will be accused of being fattist, thinnist, or prudist, and probably prosecuted under an Act of Incitement.

I reason, as I swim up and down, being a curtain, pulling an even uglier face than before, that if I was prosecuted I might be banned from the pool as an undesirable. Things are brightening up. I wonder about interesting ways I might get banned and be unable to bring Tiger, Shark, and Squirrel to swimming lessons. Ever again. I could drink vodka in the pool from a bottle I've shoved down my cleavage, if I had one. I could shout rude words, randomly, at the woggles. I would splash people and laugh.

Actually, I don't have to stare at Pencil and Fudge for too long. When the lesson's over, the girls decide they'd like to get out the pool early. Tiger's looking queasy and I wonder aloud to Shark and Squirrel that she might be sick. This was an error. If we stayed, and Shark was really sick, we might be banned then.

Astonishingly, there's no fuss in the cubicles. Foolishly I've told them about the bait in the car, in the form of three cherry cakes. That's enough to inspire everyone to get dressed quickly and get through the door. But Shark twists her ankle on the way out and limps through the exit. I wonder if we could be eligible for being banned on the basis of an acquired disability.

But no. The problem is, in the swimming pool we attend, virtually anything goes. Next week, Pencil and Fudge will still be there, indescribable horrors will be floating on the surface, and if it's term end, someone will be spitting, screaming, or taking a quiet wee. How I hate it all. I think if I parade up and down naked holding a placard that simply shouts 'BAN ME!' they'd still let me in and congratulate themselves on their policy of inclusion. Damn.

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