Swimming! Splashing! FUN!


‘You’re pretty good at swimming, innit?’

How do you reply to this? Because I’m pretty sure I can’t say:

Yes, I’m better than you. But I have to admit I LOVE the way you swim. You know how Pheobe on Friends runs? That’s the way you swim. Childlike and carefree and weird.

It’s charming.

Instead I laugh in a self-depracating way and say, ‘I guess,’ before this guy embarks on a swimming related conversation. (If I want to reenter the heterosexual lifestyle I am now pretty well convinced it would be easy to do so from the swimming pool. This is two nights in a row I’ve had a friendly, albeit weird or drunk, man hit on me.)

This guy is weird, though. As I entered the locker room, all I could hear was insane splashing and lots of ‘You can do it! Go on!’ Don’t forget the heavy breathing, either. I groaned inwardly as it sounded like a family of five was swimming and it’s only a tiny pool.

So I peeked around the corner – nope, just this one guy. Freakishly bashing his arms into the water, stopping every five feet to huff and puff and/or egg himself on, swerving from side to side.

When I was in the pool with him, I noticed that he kept trying to swim underwater while repeatedly touching the bottom of the pool – presumeably to make sure of where he was, since he didn’t open his eyes. This also explains the wild careening from side to side.

And while I sound like I’m mocking him, I’m not. I meant what I said: I was quite taken with his swimming. It was joyful. He was having fun.

And surely that’s all that matters.



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