To Chlorinate or Not to Chlorinate?

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I contemplate my fuzzy hair this morning, leftovers from last night’s swim at the local Leisure Centre.

It was my first proper swim in over 2 years, and I was almost immediately reminded of why I HATE swimming. Well, for starters, I’m really not very good at it. In the water, I am as streamlined as Noah’s Ark. Hydrodynamically speaking, I’m pretty much just a sturdy box built to stay afloat until the water level drops and I can release my doves on Mt. Ararat, or just get out of the pool, whichever comes first.

But, if I’m honest, the reason I hate swimming is really all about the hair. Like most women, I am averse to getting it wet. Last night, I had pegged my hair (which, pre-swim, I gotta say, looked pretty darn good) up into double-looped ponytail, kind of a pony-bun, and proceeded with limited success to swim my lengths with my head out of the water. After about 6 lengths, as I always do, I end up saying, stuff it, I’m going under, and that was that. Me and my super-attractive wet head completed our penance of 10 laps.

Resting in the deep end, I mentioned to my husband that I really, REALLY needed to get a swimming cap and goggles. He looked at me like I sprouted a second head. “No way. NOT a swimming cap – those things are BOOGLEY.” By which, I’m fairly certain he meant “old looking,” but whatever.

It was true. Only one person under 60 in the pool was wearing a swim cap.

But seriously, at my age, who CARES how I look? I am squeezed into my swimming costume like several amorphous lumps of errant toothpaste, my bosom has been smooshed into a somewhat misshapen loaf of soggy bread, and he’s worried a swimming cap will make me look bad? Seriously? sigh

I console myself with the thought he is looking at me through the eyes of one who took a mental photo of me at age 20 and never bothered to update it. It is rather sweet, actually, and I love him for it. But out here in the real world, these highlights, now a frizzy mess, were blooming expensive, and I will not have them ruined by chlorine. Swim cap it is. Don’t worry – I’ll post a picture for your viewing pleasure. Just don’t show it to my husband… let him live with the fantasy of the old me. He’s happier that way.

UPDATE! The verdict is: Not to chlorinate!

UPDATE! The verdict is: Not to chlorinate!

In need of serious preening,

Mother Hen

(Feature photo courtesy of Shutterstock. Now THAT’S what I call a swimming costume! Where do I sign up? 🙂 )

© motherhendiaries 2014 all rights reserved

18 replies »

  1. I read this while yelling, “Agh! She’s me!” Repeatedly. My husband, quite used to my mid-read breakdowns, was nonplussed. I, too, have a hate/hate relationship with swimming. I not only hate what it does to my already unruly locks, but I hate…HATE…the mere thought of even a drop of water possibly finding its way up my nose. If I were to be forced to swim, it would take not only a swim cap, but a nose plug, not only offending my own sense of vanity, but frightening 8 or 10 young children as well. I avoid the embarrassment by avoiding public pools (“human soup”) altogether. I indulge in my Aquarian love of water by floating on lakes on inner tubes, by parade waving from the deck of our boat, or by taking a lovely hot bath with coconut oil and lavender, all activities for which I covet your flowerdy cap!


    • Hahaha! I always love your comments, Amy… you do make me laugh! I hear you about the inner tube! My preference is to be a floating crouton in the human soup by employing an inflatable lilo (air bed). Sadly, my desire to remain a crouton is near impossible with rambunctious grandsons and a husband with a very, very cheeky sense of humour. I must buy a boat, then. The parade wave option sounds perfect for me! (flowerdy caps available at… go for it, sista!)


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