Last night Alan and I went to the State Theater in Falls Church to see Donna the Buffalo perform. Both the band and the venue were new experiences for us, despite the fact that the theater has been a live music venue for twelve years, and that the band has been around for more than two decades.
What can I say? We’re late bloomers.
So I know I shouldn’t go here, but this is just WAY TOO RICH to pass up. (Forgive the pun.)
As part of my annual physical, my doctor ordered a stool test. Yes folks, this is where I’m headed. Spoiler alert: I haven’t yet taken said test, so there will be no details in this post about the actual specimen itself. (Breathe a sigh of relief.)
If you’re in line to pay for something:
If you’re in line to use the bathroom:
What do you think? Am I way off base here?
Exhibit A: Locker room conspicuously lacking a inquisitive child.
At the pool tonight when I was changing from my swim, I was distracted because I had forgotten my flip-flops and was trying to minimize my contact with the floor. I’m paranoid that I’ll get plantar’s warts. (This is well-founded paranoia, based on my childhood as a swimmer, for the record.)
While I was putting myself through the paces, I noticed a little girl standing near me who was probably about six years old. Her mom had her hands full trying to get her younger sister stripped down, so this girl stood there, eating a banana in her bathing suit, talking to anyone within ear-shot, and staring at my boobs.
I was the only person she didn’t engage in conversation, so I’m thinking my breasts intimidated her. It’s to be expected.
Yes, I've clearly borrowed this from fotilia.com, as evidenced by their watermark all over it. I would use my own photo, but somehow I don't think my swim quite captured the meditative vibe I was going for. Had someone been there with a camera, it probably would've looked like an angry person drowning.
Oh God. This water is cold.
What was I thinking?
Maybe I’m not supposed to swim tonight.
I mean, first, there was the shampoo that leaked all over in my bag and coated all my swim stuff with UltraSwim.
I should’ve taken that as a sign and just gone home.
I wonder if there were suds when I jumped in the pool?
Damn. I should’ve paid attention.
Are there suds behind me now?
No. But I definitely smell the UltraSwim.
I wonder if there’s some in my goggles.
Probably.
Focus. You’re here to swim.
Your day sucked ass and this is how you put it behind you.
Get it out of your system.
You have 70 laps – well, maybe 50 because it *is* cold – to get over your crappy day.
I wonder if this is like a swimming meditation that I’m trying?
Does anyone do that?
If I’m the first person to do it, could I write a book about it?
Would there be enough interest that I could teach other people how to do it and go on lecture tours?
I think I need to stop thinking for it to be a meditation.
This isn’t going to work.
I can’t believe I forgot my flip-flops.
Disgusting. I probably should’ve just bailed and gone home.
The thought that I walked in the locker room unprotected makes me ill.
Now I probably will get a plantar’s wart – and only for 50 laps.
Maybe I should do 70 to make it worth it, just in case I do get a wart.
I’ll kick a little harder to try to wash off any wart juice I might have walked through.
But what about the shower?
That is going to be doubly-disgusting, because there will probably be long black hairs on the ground.
Why do black hairs bother me so much more than light hairs?
Do people with dark hair find light hair more revolting?
If I threw up in my mouth in the water, would anyone notice?
I clearly never swim very hard because I haven’t thrown up in the gutter.
Most swimmers do at some point.
Did Brian Guidry tell me that he threw up at practice sometime recently?
I’ll have to ask.
Wait. Am I getting competitive about throwing up while swimming?
What lap am I on?
pithypants 
