In The Swim Of Things
SWEET JESUS! I AM REALLY SOAKED!
It is raining buckets out there. We don’t need this much water and I certainly don’t. I’m clean already. Even the Baristas are lining up two by two.
I knew that we were expecting some rain, but I didn’t think that we would be getting it all at once.
Just going from the back door out to the car which is no more than ten feet and I was soaked to the skin. I had on my rain slick and it was thoroughly wet all the way through. Let’s not mention my unmentionables.
I felt like a drowning dog.
It is days like today that I regret that I never learned how to swim. We are five minutes away from that being a very handy lifesaving skill. Forget about swimming across the English Channel I feel good about just having made it across my driveway.
When I was a cute little tyke (Stop snickering) I spent a lot of time with Physical Therapists. They were always trying to get me into the swimming pool.
“It’s good exercise,” they kept saying.
“It’s a good way for me to drown,” I kept replying.
Those Therapists wanted to throw me into the deep end of the pool to teach me how to swim. That didn’t work. I did the teaching. I taught them a wide selection of curse words that they didn’t think a kid my age knew.
The whole concept of having me in a pool and swimming is a problem of Mechanical Dysfunction. That should be my middle name.
Swimming and I are just natural enemies.
With most human beings there are two arms and two legs that come in first rate matched sets. I was born with seconds, factory rejects if you will. My various limbs do not work and play well with others. The limbs on my right side are perfectly “normal” – as good a set of limbs that you might find anywhere on your standard biped. On the Port Side, however, the story is quite different. My arm and leg on that side are of a quality that would have them available only at Flea Markets or at your favorite “Dollar Store.” It all has to do with some prenatal structural shenanigans.
If you threw me into the deep end of the pool and stood there screaming at me, “Swim! Swim!” you would be sorely disappointed by the results.
Picture yourself trying to row a boat. Now picture that you have just one oar. Now picture that your one oar is locked in its place on the right side of the boat.
Now…start rowing. You are trying to get to the other side of the lake where you will be rewarded with 
free Daiquiris and Shrimp Cocktails.
Keep rowing! Are you getting any closer to those Daiquiris? I doubt it. You are probably getting seasick or dizzy at the least from going around in a circle. I think you can see why I never became a proficient swimmer. I would never be able to go anywhere. I would swim in a circle until I got sick and threw up in the pool. Pool owners hate it when someone upchucks in their pool. Can’t blame them. I wouldn’t like it either. I’d keep swimming and end up coming around and swimming right through the Barf Sea.
So I took up blogging instead.
Down the Hall on Your Left 
Remember in high school, when they’d separate you into groups based on your swimming ability, and they’d name them “sharks,” “tunas,” etc.? My group was called the anchors. One advantage was I got to know a few of the football players, none of whom could swim, either…
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I swim like a piano. Straight to the bottom making funny noises all the way down.
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So funny!
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But you could have tried out for coxswain and been on the team! Doesn’t the guy with all the arms look like Mayor Pete, who also looks like A Neuman but even more like Mr. Bean.
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