Six Pack

Six Pack. 

That’s what I heard when I walked into the pool room this morning. 

One of the Aqua-ettes called out “Is that Six Pack?!” and one of the Glamour Boys piped up with “Yeah baby!” through his fog of cologne. 

Apparently that’s what they call me when I’m not there (or at least when my head is under water). Six Pack…

I’m not sure what six packs look like where they spend their time but they must be HUGE. 

I’m wearing what I like to politely refer to as a “pony keg”


The ladies heard that I spend a few days a week in the gym lifting weights (or at least staring at them with fierce determination) and amongst themselves have determined that I will, from this day forward, have the moniker of Six Pack. 

I suppose that if I have nicknames for my pool friends it stands to reason that they would have one (or many) for me and I guess Six Pack isn’t so bad. 

I’m gonna own it…

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