When I got to the pool today, there was one swimmer in it. As I stretched and headed toward the ladder to get in, he had finished his laps and was at the ladder, climbing out.
It took him a minute to move up the three steps. His legs were wobbly.
"That ladder is tough on bad knees and hips, isn't it?" I ask with my biggest, friendliest smile. (Look at me, making conversation with strangers!) "I have trouble with it, too!"
I notice then that he's quite a bit older than me. Looks sort of like Burt Reynolds. The Burt with a dark mustache, curly dark chest hair and just a little pooch.
"Oh alk dlkfejla aldkflakdfdj! Ha ha ha ha ha!" he says. (I don't hear that well and noise echos in a pool, so I have no earthly idea what he said. But he was cheerful about it.)
He continued, with the volume greatly increased, "Oh, yes! That's A MILE AND A HALF DONE! Now if I could just stop eating so much, I'd be in good shape!"
As he says this, he's all but silent movie, over-exaggerated-ly winking at me. Had his mustache been of the handlebar variety and had there been a big, thick, gold shark's tooth on a Figaro chain, it would have been picture perfect.
And since he now knew that the lifeguard and I both knew just how far he swam, he turned on his heel and left.
I only went about a mile and an eighth, good sir. You won.
And, better yet, I've made sure others know of your outstanding feat, too. Because I'm pretty sure the more people who know, the better, from your vantage point.
No comments:
Post a Comment