A day at the pool

For an adult whose body has seen better days, going to the swimming pool is pretty much the same thing as going out in public naked. There's no hiding your beer gut, man boobs or ill-advised tattoo from anyone you meet, which in a town like Lawrence on a beautiful summer day, is likely to be just about everyone you know. The first moments after pulling the shirt over the head are always the most awkward, but eventually you realize you can't hide what's outside, so it's better to just accept your body, Tao-like, in all its jiggly glory. This combination of abandon, socialization and humiliation makes a trip to the pool a uniquely exhilarating outing.

Our family's trip to the pool today was just what I needed: a chance to see old friends and to be reminded why I love this town-- it's the little things you can find at the pool, like the beautifuly tattooed moms, the tan guy who's there every day, the busloads of bordering-on-out-of-control kids, the judges, attorneys, cops and robbers all splashing in the same tank.

Today's swimming was interrupted by just one "code-brown" alert that cleared the pool for about 20 minutes as workers searched for the UFO (unsecured fecal object). From my vantage point, it went something like this: someone alerted the closest lifeguard, who-- perhaps after spending a few moments in denial --blew the whistle. A couple minutes later the rest of the lifeguards caught on and blew their own whistles to clear the pool, by which point the UFO had, in all likelihood, disintegrated. The lifeguards then got out a net and took a few half-hearted swipes at the crime scene, then wheeled out some sort of vacuum device on loan from FEMA. (Meanwhile, one of my kids was busy whacking me on the butt with a floaty noodle and asking me if I was pregnant.) The good news is that, while this was happening, many people left the pool as if they were moviegoers fleeing The Blob. By the time the pool was open for business again, there was a lot more elbow room.