Mrs. Robinson (sort of)

This may come as some surprise, but yesterday I exercised. I'd weighed myself and been encouraged by the number I saw. This made me think that perhaps I was not so out of shape (I shan't share the number.) and should keep it that way. I think of my son and how old I already am (I shan't share that number, either.) and how I want to see him get married, or not, or have whatever commitment type thing with some person someday. Evidently, to live a long time, you're supposed to exercise. That is what they say.

So, I went swimming and did some laps. I only did six, but I don't use the wall or the floor. It's much harder that way, especially the turns. After, I felt fine. If all exercise were swimming, my body and I would have a deal. But I can't do indoor pools, which presents a problem of venue. I need the sun, the outdoors, some people to look at for distraction, some decent summer heat, and someone to chit chat with.

Yesterday, I chatted with the lifeguard. Ari has a crush on him, so he knows us. I think the lifeguard might have a crush on me. Not like anything sexual--I'm not a delusional lunatic. He's a hot, blond, international boy of 22. I'm a lesbian mom who comes to the pool with 174 objects and drops them all over the place like a spaz. I spend my pool time nagging my three-year-old about sunscreen and forcing fluids down him like some sun-exposure paranoiac. Then I walk him back and forth to the bathroom talking about excretion. The moments of my appeal have got to be pretty fleeting. But something's going on. The lifeguard (He told me his name, but I can't pronounce it.) asks me questions, and he offers me goggles, and he smiles at me as if we're sharing a secret. Maybe it's cultural. Anyway, it's kind of cool. I feel like Mrs. Robinson.

Only I'm not. I have this weird shyness, even though I'm not really that shy, where I freak out and panic when someone offers me something, like goggles. When he asked if I would like some, I first thought, "Yuck! Why would I want to wear some stranger's goggles?" Plus, I'd almost poked my eye out some days before. (I shan't reveal if this had anything to do with The Pot Rack Incident.) So, I was nervous about messing with my eyes, even just to put on goggles. Then I felt guilty. After all, he was only trying to be nice. So, I sputtered around and shook my head and made some utterly absurd excuse about wanting to keep my head out of the water anyway. Then I had to continue the charade for the rest of my swim and day at the pool, which was no fun in this heat, let me tell you.

I don't know why I do that. Probably, if I were lost in the desert and someone came and offered me a ride back to civilization, I would turn it down for some equally ridiculous reason. "Oh, no, thank you," I would say. "I'm just out for a lovely stroll." I don't like it when people guess that I don't have all my shit together, and I don't like being singled out for that kind of attention. Except when I do. I love it when Barbara rescues me from a bug or from the thunder, for instance. She does this other sweet thing when I'm going somewhere important. She prints directions for me in case of GPS fail. Then she works it into the conversation to explain the directions to me because she knows I'm hopeless. I can accept this kind of rescuing from her, because I really, really like her. But that lifeguard needs to back off.