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