And so Friday morning happened…

I learned a valuable lesson.

After watching innumerable YouTube videos and making all of the required purchases I found that a wing suit is not nearly as aerodynamic in the pool as in those worldwide base jumping videos.

I came walking in to hoots and cheers from the Aqua-Ettes clad in my new suit with the screaming raven stitched onto the back and dove into lane three between the chatty lassies water jogging in lane four and Samantha L. Jackson in lane two jabbering away colorfully with my special friend. “What the &*$# is that?!?!” I heard her say.

The dive was smooth and flawless but my new leather helmet immediately shifted all the way to the back of my head and began choking me with the nylon chin strap and the goggles leaked profusely, blurring my vision.

The suit quickly filled with water and became the sea anchor I should have known it would be but hope clouded my judgement as it so often does.

Trying to salvage even a smidgen of my dignity I reached down in the water and ignited the smoke packs I had so hoped would trail my sleek and elegant swim through the pool leaving a mystic smoke that was a wonder to behold.

This was not the case either.

Enormous gouts of red smoke came belching out of the depths of the pool from my ankles making my eyes burn and everyone else around me shoot away like grease from a drop of Dawn in the sink.

A strange film was left on the surface of the pool like an oil slick and I was left to trudge up the wheelchair ramp wheezing puffs of red smoke with every step and the sound of unrestrained laughter emanating from every corner of the aquatics center.

The maintenance crew showed up just as I was leaving and I heard one guy mutter under his breath “Oh, it’s him again…”

Thank (insert deity here) it’s Friday.

I think the ladies should pay for my membership just for the entertainment quotient I bring…