With yesterday’s sangria & mexican beat down behind me (figuratively), I had a fresh start (also figuratively) in the pool today.
Soon, the fresh start got a little tainted (in a great way).
Samantha L. Jackson was back.
Laying with her arms across the lane rope and her back leaning against it like some extra comfy divan, she was lazily kicking her legs at about .047 rpm but in contrast had a grimace that was contemplating murder.
Mumbling under her breath I could hear the words “I can’t believe I have to do this m&$+*^f&$*^n’ sh*t”.
I offered a tentative good morning and she replied with “G&$D*^%M#€£+*^F%#&$@?!DOCTOR’s£€#%^*+sh*t•@&$'”@&#%^*!!!”
I almost turned away as the rant continued but it’s kind of like a train wreck. You don’t want to see the bodies but you can’t shut your eyes as you drive by the carnage.
I mentioned our mutual love for ice cream and the fact that my son and I had shared some cherry chocolate chunk and her eyes lit up like she’d just seen the savior himself.
Her softer side showed.
It was more like gravel but still a bit softer.
“I LOVE THAT SH*T!!!”
You could see the wheels spinning and the idea forming in her mind when she blurted out “F**k this, I’m out!”
She launched herself out of the pool and as she left, she peeked her head out of the locker room and asked
“Do you know a good Mexican place that has sangria?”