Swimsuits Optional

I’ve gotten away with not swimming on lots of vacations so far. I didn’t even bring a swimsuit to Hawaii. I know, some of you gasp at the thought. It’s just me. I don’t think I can get away with it for much longer, especially on the cruise. Danny is old enough to notice that I’m not playing along. Cate won’t care, but Danny might. Every day he says, “Play wif me, Mama.” Ug. I can hear him now. “Swim wif me, Mama.” How can I say no to that little guy?

I might not have anything to worry about though, based on his performance last summer. He had a little freak-out when we tried to get him to go swimming in Aunt Judy’s pool. He’s fine with the cheap little kiddie pool in our backyard. He “swims” in the bathtub all the time. He was not fond of the big pool though. I understand where he’s coming from.

I’m not a fan of swimming. It’s not because I can’t swim. I’m pretty sure that if I was ever in a canoe and it hit a huge boulder and flipped over, I could swim calmly and safely to shore. (Girl Scout trip. Nineteen eighty-something. Except I didn’t actually swim safely to shore. I hoisted myself up on top of that huge boulder, waved my arms and screamed for help. I haven’t been in a canoe since.)

I’m not a fan of being in water filled with other people’s germs. Kramer said it best. Taking a bath is “sitting in a tepid pool of your own filth.” Swimming is worse. It’s not my filth that I’m worried about (I’m squeaky clean). It’s yours that concerns me. And his. And hers. And theirs. I don’t care how much chlorine is in that pool. I know there are still little molecules of Number One and Number Two floating around. And possibly some little bits of Number Three and Number Four as well. I shudder just thinking about it.

I’m not a fan of being in water filled with plant and animal germs either. Forget about the germs. I’m not a fan of being in water filled with the actual plants and animals themselves. So the ocean is out. Thankfully, that means the beach is out as well. No more sand wedging itself into the cracks of my toenails. No more saltwater stinging my eyes. Hopefully someone will step up and help my kids fulfill their seashell collecting duties. It’s not gonna be me.

I’m not a fan of the sun. Most of the time swimming and sun go hand in hand. If it weren’t for its life-sustaining qualities, I’d give up on the sun forever. Too hot. Too bright. It gives me a headache. I can’t wear sunglasses. I feel like everyone will think I’m just trying to look cool. I have a jillion freckles on my face thanks to the sun. I used to hate them. Now I just ignore them. Anyway, if I turn up missing some day, look for me in Juneau, Alaska. I’ve done my research. Juneau receives only 30% of the annual possible sunshine in the United States. Other cloudy cities are Quillayute, Washington; Elkins, West Virginia; Hilo, Hawaii; and Anchorage. Don’t waste your time looking for me in Hilo though.

I’m not a fan of the way my hair feels after being in the water. Usually it’s a tangled mess. Then it dries all skewampus. (I just looked that word up on the Wiktionary. It’s a blend of the words askew and cattywampus.) Never mind. I will already have a tangled mess on my head. My dreads. Problem solved.

I’m not a fan of the swimsuit. Actually, I have nothing against the swimsuit. It’s my body in the swimsuit that I abhor. The last time I wore a swimsuit without any protective gear was probably when I was 10 or 11 on a trip to Panama City Beach. (It was black with rainbow stripes across the chest. And it was strapless! Why I chose that suit and why my mom let me choose it, I’ll never know. I do know that it was no fun trying to keep it from falling off. Mother Nature did nothing to help me with that one.) When I say protective gear, I mean a t-shirt and/or shorts to protect you from gouging your eyes out at the sight of me. Or from being blinded by my milky white skin. Remember, I hate the sun. No tan.

I am a fan of those old-time swimsuits for the ladies. You know the ones. A nice little dress, with sleeves and leggings. Maybe even a cute little swimming cap too. What a dream. I’m waiting for those to be in fashion again.

All of this might just be a moot point when I think back on a few things Danny said this week. We went to check out the Lost and Found at our local pool a few days ago to see if Jarrett’s missing Mario toy had turned up. As we entered the pool area, Danny said, “Wow! Baf tub!” Yep. He thought the pool was a bathtub. I guess he doesn’t remember the swimming class he took there when he was 8 months old. I have to give him some credit though. It is inside and heated, just like his bathtub at home.

Then there’s the time he and I were taking a walk. He was wearing his snow pants and boots. He stopped and rubbed his hands up and down on his pants and said, “Swimming. Swimming.” Huh?

Time to head off to the community bathtub I guess. This little boy of mine needs to learn how to swim. Heck, he needs to learn what a swimming pool is.

Next cruise, I choose Alaska. Swimsuits optional. (Get your mind out of the gutter…it’s not that kind of cruise.)