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I lumber through the grass — no shoes, towel over my shoulder, sunglasses on, hungover. I’ve got a monogrammed canvas bag that I stole from my mom that’s filled with expired suntan lotion, headphones, and a book that my brain is too cloudy to even begin reading. But no one’s here to judge because it’s a pool day.
Unlatching the door, I’m just praying that the pool is quiet. Free of screaming kids, free of college-aged day drinkers, free of teenage girls gossiping about Kardashians that I didn’t even know existed. I’m not trying to wrestle over noodles with any eight-year-olds or get water on my Jimmy Buffett-playing iPhone after some little guy cannonballs next to me. I’m just trying to clear the mechanism and do me for a bit before I toss some more wine in this Tervis tumbler to get back on the train for the night.
The only people I wanna see right now? The creme de la creme. The belles of the ball. The pool moms.
Yep. I see you doing your thing in that little swim-skirt interchanging between your US Weekly and your Nicholas Sparks novel. I’m not saying I’m a fan of Nicholas Sparks, but I’m also not denying that I watched The Best Of Me last week and enjoyed the hell out of it. I’m just sitting here reading Golf Digest, so I’m not here to judge your literary choices.
Hey, Janice, mind if I borrow some of that Banana Boat bronzing oil? I seemed to have forgotten mine. And I’m not going to ask you to do my back, but I’m also not going to stop you when you see me struggling to reach that area between my shoulder blades and the small of my back. I didn’t pluck those stray shoulder hairs for you to just sit all the way over there and watch me get sunburnt. That’s not fun for either of us.
Looks like you need that fern plant moved so you can fit an extra chair in there for when Julie arrives. Here, let me help. I know I’m hungover, but I’m not too hungover to know that this bronzing oil isn’t “Performance” and I don’t want you to sweat it off. Besides, I’m headed that way to get a sip from the drinking fountain anyway, so it’s really my pleasure.
While I’m here, it looks like those pool toys are a little dusty from sitting in the garage all winter. Need a little help dusting them off and inflating them? We don’t want those cob webs getting into the pool. Those could cause some issues for the filter and I’m not seeing a lifeguard on duty today.
Oh, shoot, let’s get that hummus in the shade. We don’t want that melba toast to go to waste. I know you left your Tevas in the Caravan so allow me.
Huh, is that a portable DVD player you brought? It pairs nicely with that Bud Light Lime Strawberita I see in your mesh pool bag. There’s no judging here, so what do you say we take this half bottle of rum I brought and let it float around in the pool while we discuss where I went to college and where I’m living now. I know that sign reads “No Glass At The Pool,” but it doesn’t say anything about us having a little secret together. Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.
We can even pair my phone with that speaker you’re not sure how to use. I’ll teach you how to pair it with your iPhone 4S for when I’m not around. It’s fine, it’s fine, I seriously don’t mind. What if I told you there was a music streaming app that includes both “Happy” and “Uptown Funk” so you don’t have to buy them on iTunes? Would you like that? We can even put the speaker over here for everyone to enjoy. You don’t even have to get up; we’re in bluetooth territory now.
I’ll tell you what — you tell me where you got that Quiksilver surf top and I’ll tell you where I got this swimsuit so you can surprise your husband this Father’s Day. This flirtation we have going? It’s strictly a pool thing, no one else will understand so we don’t need to broadcast it. Oh, and it’s Tommy Bahama, but we both knew that, didn’t we?
Go ahead, watch your son do that cannonball he’s begging for you to see. I even think I’ve got some pennies for him to dive for if you need them. I’m just going to head back over to my raft and keep recognizing you doing all that you do. When you’re done, come on in, the water’s fine. .
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