You Know What You Need To Do…

Nearby the end of my third lap this morning, I noticed a spider at the bottom of the pool. 

It was the size of Aragog, king of the arachnids, from Jerry Potter and the Venomous Donkeys or another one of those movies. 

(at least in my mind it was)

pool-spider

I screamed at it, wet myself quite thoroughly (no one could tell, I was underwater for cripes sakes) and sailed gracefully out of the pool in one fluid gesture like I had donned one of those wearable water jets, only the water was decidedly “apple juice” looking. (Yes, you could certainly tell then…)

water-jet-pack-hawaii

Regaining my emancipated self composure, I got a running start, cleared the monstrosity and began my self beration (yeah, made that up) once more. 

Upon reaching the relative safety of the other end (seriously, you can never be too sure with those sneaky bastards) I saw that one of the grannies had found the offending creature and scooped it out of the pool, thereby allowing my hiding “cash & prizes” to make a reappearance and relative calm once again reigned in the pool. 

As I continued my flagellating workout, I saw that the grannies had gathered at my starting point and were gaily chatting away, leisurely pumping their foam barbells and having a great time. 

aquatics_group_fitness

When I reached the end of my lap I took a breather and began defogging my goggles when a scratchy voice popped up and said 

“You know what you should do…”

And a tirade of exercise advice flowed forth. 

Everyone had a say. 

one-man

*”You should alternate freestyle and breast stroke”

*”You shouldn’t rest between laps”

*”You should try yoga swimming” (Huh? That’s a thing?)

*”You should tie your hands and feet together first” (What?!?!)

*”You should meet my granddaughter”

*”You should wear a speedo, handsome”

speedos-480x279

Wait…what?

MPH: “Meet your granddaughter? Ma’am, I’m a married spud. Mrs. Potato Head is at home waiting on me.”

G1: “Yeah, but she’s really pretty”

G2: “My granddaughter is a yoga instructor”

MPH: (under my breath, “not a chance in hell…)

G3: “Mine is a lottery winning doctor that teaches pole dancing and likes older men with dad bod’s”

MPH: “Well maybe there’s a chance…wait…NO!” (What is this, granddaughter auction day at the pool?!?!)

pole-dancer

MPH: “Ladies, I appreciate your concern for your young relatives marriage prospects but I’m off the market”

“I’ll keep you in mind in the unlikely event that something changes”

“Oh, you had cards made?”

“I’m not sure I should take one when you had it…um…there…”

As the raspy giggles ensued, I turned and climbed the ladder to low exclamations of “Mmmmhmmm”, “That’s right” and “If I was a hundred and thirty seven years younger…” 

arnie-getty

And fled once again. 

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